Kissing Quinn Fabray
by vondrunkaton
Summary: Quinn comforts Rachel after Finn says something oafish. Rachel is surprised by how sweet Quinn is. There's also some making out in delicious detail. Fluffy getting together fic, rated somewhere between T and M. Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think. :)_

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><p>"Well, at least <em>my<em> mom didn't decide she didn't want to know me and then choose _somebody else's _kid instead."

You can't even react. You know that you're sitting with your mouth dropped open and that tears are starting to sting your eyes, but other than that, you've got nothing.

Worse things have been said to you before, of course, but never like this. Never by Finn.

"That was harsh, Finn," you hear Brittany say, but she sounds farther away than she should, like you're all on a stage and she's being lifted to the catwalk by a wire the crowd can't see. You think that Brittany would giggle at that and say something about being Peter Pan and never growing up.

You know Finn is hurting and angry that you broke up with him, you do. But it doesn't make it hurt any less. He was your first kiss; your first love. He's _Finn_ for god's sake. He might be clueless from time to time, but he's never been _mean._

You push yourself to your feet. You _will_ make it out of the choir room without crying. You have to.

You lift your chin so determinedly that you feel your hair flip on your shoulder.

"Mr. Shuester," you're shocked that your voice sounds as steady as it does, but then, you always _could_ pull a performance when you needed to, "I think it might be more profitable today for one of my teammates to act as interim captain. I..." You think you should say that you haven't been feeling well, that you've inadvertently missed an appointment, that you thought you might have seen Jesse St. James in the hallway with a carton of eggs under his arm, but you think better of it and just stumble down the risers to the door and push through it.

You're in the hallway now and you make it a whole row of lockers before the door latches behind you, and you can't hold it in any longer. The tears overwhelm you and you cross your arms over your stomach, exactly at the spot where it feels like you were punched. Your face is contorted and you know you must look awful. It's imperative that you find the nearest bathroom to ride out this breakdown in the solitude of a stall, but you can't move.

You don't know how long you've been there, but you hear the door open and latch again. You don't know who's watching you come apart from the inside out but you can't turn around. It might be Finn and you're positive that you can't look into his face at this moment.

Then, there's someone beside you and you feel the softest fingertips slide down your arm, prying it gently loose and tangling in your own clammy fingers. You look up, startled, and instantly forget how to breathe when you're met with calm hazel eyes.

"Quinn—" You choke on the word, and she says nothing, just tugs on your hand and you have no choice but to follow her.

You stumble blindly behind her; she could be leading you anywhere.

She pulls you through a door and into a room you've never been in and suddenly you're gasping, unable to get enough air into your lungs. You think this must be what hyperventilating feels like and you hope briefly that you don't suffocate. Dying in front of Quinn Fabray would be mortifying.

You blink rapidly and through the tears you can tell she's led you to the Cheerios lounge. It's bigger than the teachers lounge and has a cappuccino maker and – you gasp – a _slushie machine_. You have a horrible fleeting thought that she's brought you here to land the final blow; there must be some humiliation waiting for you here that the illustrious head cheerleader has devised.

You wait for it, but the only thing that happens is Quinn gently rubbing the back of your hand with her thumb. Your eyebrows furrow and you look down, confused. And then she's pulling you again, and you have no choice but to fall into her arms.

You have been alive sixteen very full years. You have two dads who love you more than anything. You have been in love with Finn Hudson and have made out with Noah Puckerman, both football players and extremely handsome, no one would argue there. You have won several show choir competitions and have performed in New York City and have met one of your idols, Patti Lupone. You've done all of these things, and you feel as though you've had a relatively happy life.

But until this moment, until Quinn Fabray pulls you into her arms, that's all you feel. Until this moment, you've been alive for sixteen years, but you've never really _lived._

It happens so slowly, it's like you're watching it unfold right in front of you. Your hand in hers, tugged gently until you stumble forward, her guiding your arms around her waist and then winding her arms around your neck, pulling you close.

Quinn is holding you tightly, making small circles at the base of your neck with her thumbs. It's not possible for you to be upset about anything with her doing _that_, and before you realize what's happening, you're not crying any more_._

You have no idea how long the two of you stand there. Long enough for your sobs to stop racking your body and for the tears to dry on your face without you wiping them.

You hear the door to the lounge open behind you, but you make no move to turn and see who has disturbed your moment with Quinn. All you can think in a blind panic is that this is almost over. You've been here for too long and soon Quinn will let you go and you'll have to go back to not feeling anything.

The cheerleaders (you assume; it's the Cheerios lounge after all, and who _else_ walks around giggling like that?) stall out at the door when Quinn says in a cold voice, "I think you meant to go to the _other_ Cheerios lounge, girls."

"But there isn't another—" You hear the cheerleader's voice die in mid-sentence and you know the _exact_ look on Quinn's face that killed it. You've seen it directed at you a fair number of times.

"You're right. We _were_ looking for the other lounge," another agrees and the door closes, leaving you alone with Quinn once more.

You're surprised when she doesn't let you go.

And now that you've calmed down, you take a moment to examine your situation.

This is not a casual hug. Every inch of the front of your bodies is touching, and you marvel at the sensation of being pressed up against her. She's soft. She's warm. And your arms fit around her waist perfectly. You can feel the soft skin of her shoulders rub yours and you're happy for Cheerios uniforms and also that you wore your ruffled black sleeveless shirt today.

This hug should have turned uncomfortable for both of you a long time ago. That's what you're thinking when you feel her fingers toying lightly with your hair. Your eyes drift closed and you bite your bottom lip.

That's when you realize – she's _holding_ you.

You remember what it used to be like when Finn held you, and you can't help but compare. Not that there's any comparison, really.

Your face smothered in Finn's chest when he hugged you; with Quinn, your chin rests naturally on her shoulder. She's only a few inches taller than you, if that, and you're shocked at how well you fit together.

There's a moment when she shifts slightly, and you frown. You don't want her to let go yet; you want to feel _whatever this is_ for just a moment longer.

But she's not letting you go. She's rubbing your cheek lightly with hers.

She's nuzzling you.

For a split second you tense, expecting her to humiliate you, call you a lesbatron, accuse you for enjoying this too much, punish you for wanting to be close to her.

But when you feel her skin moving against yours and her hot breath on your neck and especially when you smell her hair, you lose yourself all over again, and all you can do is hug her tighter and pray that she doesn't let you go. She feels _so good_ against you, and you've never in your life – not even when you were kissing Finn – had such an intimate moment with another person.

You wonder how she's doing this, creating this connection. It's nothing short of magic.

You can remember you were upset about something but you can't remember what.

You tuck your head, tilt your chin, trying to get closer to her somehow and at some point, she clutches tighter, almost crushing you to her and holding you there. You realize that your lips are on her neck. _Your lips are on Quinn Fabray's neck._

Oh god.

All you would have to do at this moment is open your mouth slightly and you'd be kissing her skin.

You wonder what it tastes like; you feel delirious with the thought of it.

You draw a shaky breath and hope that Quinn thinks you're still crying and that it's not because of how aroused you are. But you haven't been crying for a while now. It's been twenty minutes at least.

"Do you want to talk about it," she asks, and you're not sure if she means what happened in the choir room or her holding you for a half an hour in the cheerleaders lounge.

In either case, and for the first time in your life, you definitely _don't_ want to talk about it.

Instead, you decide to risk it.

You open your mouth slightly; press a kiss to her neck. A low moan rumbles in your ear, and you'd give everything you owned to be able to hear it again.

She tastes amazing.

Her hands are no longer toying with your hair, they're full-blown running through it. You feel like you're about to come apart and she's barely touching you.

Now her hands are running circles on your shoulders and she breathes one word into your ear: "More."

You feel your stomach flip at the request.

She wants you to kiss her again.

This is not happening. This cannot be happening.

You swallow, a little in awe at what you're about to do. You wet your lips and press a careful kiss to Quinn's neck and – you swear you can't help yourself – suck a little bit this time.

The moan she makes this time is completely different. It's almost a growl and you become aware of how she's making you feel; you're wet and all she's doing is holding you and making soft sounds in your ear. This is the first time that another person has solicited _that _reaction from you, and you're a little giddy at the thought that it's Quinn Fabray.

Suddenly, you're overwhelmed with the desire to touch her everywhere.

All you can see, hear, _smell_ is her, and you're in overload.

Now you're aware of Quinn's lips on _your_ skin. Your cheek. Your temple. Your hair. She rubs her nose into your hair and you shiver.

"Okay," you've lost your breath more times in the last half hour than you can count, "maybe we _should_ talk about it."

That draws her back, and she studies your face, finally. You realize that you haven't really looked at each other since she led you in here.

You've known her for how many years? You try to think of a time when you've seen this look on her face before and you don't think you ever have.

"Rachel." Her voice breaks over your name, even though it's only a whisper, and your eyes flutter.

You can't get enough air in your lungs. Your bodies are still touching, and you feel like your skin is humming everywhere. You look from her lips to her eyes to her lips again. You want them. You want _her._

"I don't want to hurt any more," you say, and you can tell she doesn't either.

She pulls you back into her again, and you wonder if it's because it's so much easier than looking into your eyes. You don't blame her. You think it's easier too.

"He shouldn't have said that about your mom."

You can't think of anything to say that doesn't make you sound pathetic, so you just focus on committing everything about this moment to memory. Because you know in your heart, when it's over, you won't be getting another one like it.

She's nuzzling again, and you just feel content to stand there and let her.

"Rachel," she whispers again and this time it's like she's trying to wake you up. You smile into her hair. She smells so _good._ It should be a crime for another person to smell this good.

Finally, you say, "Do you know that feeling of..." You're trying to think of how exactly to say this so she'll know what you mean. You're voice is barely audible and you try to make it louder because you want her to understand. "When you see everyone being happy with someone else and you feel like you're standing outside in the rain looking through a window at them. Like you don't belong there." Your throat suddenly feels like it's filled with cotton. You can't believe you're about to admit this to Quinn Fabray of all people. "And you just want to be happy too. Happy _with _someone." That started out as a question but you got lost somewhere along the way. Now you're not sure what you were trying to say in the first place, and you pull her closer instead.

The hands tracing circles around your neck come to a stop and you think that maybe you've broken the spell. Then, they're moving again, looping a strand of your hair around and around a finger. You suddenly want to kiss her fingers and maybe even _suck_ them a little and you can feel your face redden at the thought.

The bell rings and it's so loud and foreign in this safe moment that you flinch into her shoulder.

She finally pulls back from you, a whole step, and now you know you've broken the spell, and you sigh. You knew this would happen; it was far too beautiful to last.

At least she's holding your hand.

"Rachel, I have to go to practice. But we definitely need to talk. Can I... come to your house later tonight?" You can't think of anything to say. Quinn Fabray wants to come to your house? To _talk_? She just spent the last hour holding you and nuzzling your hair and now she wants to talk? You honestly think that maybe you might pass out. When did it get so hot in here? Has it always been so stifling in this room?

You must have nodded because she ducks her head and says, "Yeah?" _Yeah_, you think. _You can come over to my house every day for the rest of our lives if you'll hold me like that again_. She smiles softly, and you think she might even look kind of bashful. When in the world have you ever seen Quinn Fabray acting bashful? "Okay, see you tonight," she says without making any move to let go of your hand. And then, softly, "but first... I think... I want... to..."

Her eyes flicker toward your mouth.

She's moving so slowly, and you know what's going to happen. And even though you're watching Quinn Fabray lean into you, her eyes holding tight to your lips until they flutter closed at the last possible moment, there is really no preparation for what happens when you finally feel her lips against yours.

There was nothing before this moment and there will be nothing after.

It's sweet and slow and so very tender that for a minute you think that she might have a twin who got hidden away at birth and somehow broke free from her secret prison and took Quinn's place at McKinley. I mean, this is Quinn Fabray we're talking about here. And she's being so... _gentle._

And then Quinn tilts her head just so and it's – _ah!_ – it's simply magical. You experience every lame cliché at once: the fireworks exploding behind your eyes, the soaring symphony, butterflies in your stomach, weak knees. You can't be certain, but you think your foot might even have popped up behind you ever so slightly; it makes you feel like you are in an old musical and you can't help but smile into Quinn's kiss. You're beyond intoxicated when you feel her smiling back.

When she pulls gently away, you're completely stunned.

You feel like you've never been kissed before, _really_ kissed, and Quinn has just pulled you to her and kissed you into life like some kind of perfect prince charming. It's the single most exhilarating experience of your young existence, and you allow your eyes to flutter closed and you sigh appropriately at the romance of it all.

You hear Quinn's soft laugh and your eyes fly open, afraid that this might be the moment for retribution. Instead, you're met with a warm gaze and a lovely smile. She looks... radiant. You've forgotten that she's just spent the better part of an hour doing nothing but holding you and here you are, imagining that she stills wants to humiliate you. You realize that you definitely _do_ need to talk, and suddenly you're simultaneously anticipating and dreading Quinn coming to your house later.

Quinn breaks you out of you reverie by lifting your hand gently to her mouth and brushing her lips softly across your knuckles. You catch your breath at the sight; she looks for a moment like she positively adores you and you think you that certainly you must have imagined _that_.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you still think that she might be playing you, setting you up somehow. This _is_ Quinn Fabray, after all. She's a master at humiliation. But you can still feel the tingle of her lips pressed to yours and you don't care any more. That one kiss was worth every humiliation in the world and you're completely willing to risk everything if it means the slightest chance that she'll kiss you like that again.

"I'll be waiting," you breathe, and she tucks a strand of hair gently behind your ear.

The smile she gives you is enough to steal your breath all over again, and when she kisses the tip of your nose lightly, you can feel yourself beaming back.

She leads you by the hand to the hallway and pulls you though the door.

Everyone in school is in the hallway, laughing and joking, stuffing books into bags, slamming locker doors.

It's time to go home. You pull your backpack onto your shoulder and wonder how long it's going to take for Quinn to finish with practice and come to you.

It's going to be a long night.

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><p><em>Seven forty three, post meridiem<em>. You're in your room, trying to study and failing miserably. Quinn still hasn't come, and she hasn't called. How long can you practice clapping your hands and spelling words out, anyway? Well, with the grade point averages of someof the Cheerios, you concede that it might take several hours to master the complexities of spelling and clapping at the same time.

_Seven forty four_. Maybe she's not coming. Suddenly, you feel kind of stupid. Of _course_ she's not coming. Quinn Fabray, senior captain of the Cheerios, coming here to Rachel Berry's house. For what? To declare her undying love?

You admit to yourself that you had been hoping for some kind of grand gesture after this afternoon, but really what's the best that could have come from that experience?

She's gained and lost her status at McKinley not once but twice and there's no way she'd throw it away again on a girl like you. Especially not now that you're seniors.

You're determined not to feel sorry for yourself. You had the best day you've had in a long time. You shared a spectacular embrace with Quinn Fabray. She kissed you, for crying out loud! Today was the most magical day in William McKinley history. In Rachel Berry history.

You make up your mind to treasure it forever as the beautiful memory that it was meant to be, at the gift Quinn gave you, and settle in to study. You manage to read a few lines, and you're proud of yourself, but that doesn't stop you from glancing anxiously at the clock.

_Seven forty six_. You roll your eyes at yourself. So much for self-control.

You're seriously contemplating unplugging your alarm clock from the wall so you can't torture yourself with it any more when you hear the doorbell.

You instantly feel like someone slushied you on the inside.

You're not ready for this. _Relax,_ you tell yourself. _Maybe it's not her._

There's a soft knock on your door. _Of course it's her._

"Come in," you say, and she does.

You notice immediately that she has showered and changed. She's not wearing her uniform. She's wearing a soft blue sweater and a pair of jeans. Her hair is mussy, and it's not the first time you're grateful that she cut it short last spring. It's almost wild. She looks beautiful.

She stands awkwardly in the doorway. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," you answer.

"Your dad let me in," she says and you nod. You can't think of anything to say to her. Words have never been a problem for you and now, when you need them the most, there's nothing there. "I've never seen your room before," she informs you.

This is not going well. There is no familiarity left over from today's embrace, and you can feel every ounce of your difference in social status at this moment. What did you think would happen? Well, your disappointment is no reason not to have some semblance of graciousness, at any rate.

"Do you want to sit down?" you ask. She closes the door behind her and perches on the edge of your desk chair. She fiddles with the hem of her sweater and suddenly you're hyper aware of the sound of your own breathing, like it's filling up the room, forcing everything else out. You concentrate on trying to make it less obnoxious. "How was practice?" you ask, mostly because you're not sure what else to do.

"It was fine," she says and you're back to looking everywhere but at her. You glance at the clock. You've made it a habit now after hours of waiting for her. _Seven fifty._ Have you really been sitting here for nearly five minutes saying nothing?

Finally, you huff a sigh. "Quinn, this is silly," you say. "I felt very comfortable with you earlier today – in fact, more comfortable than I think I've ever felt with anyone before. And now we can't even look at each other." You chance a glance at her and are relieved to see her smiling tentatively.

"You felt comfortable with me today?" she asks, and you marvel at how timid she sounds.

"I really did," you tell her. "No one has ever made me feel so safe before."

She's quiet again; she's thinking, but you can tell she has something to say, so you wait. "I liked it," she finally says, and you're happy that you didn't interrupt her. It's the best thing anybody's ever said to you. "I liked taking care of you." Correction. _That's_ the best thing anybody's ever said to you.

You're beaming now. This is impossible. This is beyond impossible. You have no idea what this means for the two of you, but you really don't care.

"I liked it too," you say, and your heart is bursting with the ache to tell her that you want her to kiss you again.

She's holding your gaze now, steadily, and you're not looking away. You're finding so many things in her eyes. They're beautiful and you could look into them all day long. You realize that things are quickly growing comfortable again.

_Seven fifty two._

"I've never been kissed like that before," you say quietly, and you can hear her draw in a breath. Maybe it was too soon to bring it up.

Her brow creases. "I've seen you kiss Finn."

You nod. "And Noah," you add. "But it was never like it was with you today."

You wish you could tell what she's thinking. You've laid it all out there; it's up to her now. She holds your heart in her hand and can smash it to bits or make it soar at her will. And all you can do is wait and see which she'll choose.

"Do you really mean that, Rachel?"

Of course you do. You would never lie about something like this.

You didn't realize you were moving until you find yourself sitting on the edge of the bed. She pushes herself off the chair and meets you there.

She's kneeling now, between your knees, tucking your hair behind your ear again. You think she must really have a thing for your hair because every time she's been within arms length, she's had her fingers in it.

You're close enough that you can feel her breath mingling with yours.

"What do you want, Quinn?" You say it softly, pouring as much care into the question as you can, so that she knows that you actually want to know her desires.

"That's... a complicated question, Rach."

You smile then. You can't help it. Quinn called you _Rach._ "I'm not going anywhere," you say. "Explain it to me?"

She laughs then. "I'm not sure we have time for it all tonight," she says.

_Seven fifty five._

You can tell that she's nervous. She's not the only one. You're very close to her right now and the subject between you is heavy.

"Lie down with me?" You know she could say no, but you remember how close she held you in the Cheerios lounge and it gives you courage. You think that talking might be easier if the two of you can have a break from one another's eyes.

Shyly, she nods, and you pull her down with you. You open your arm and she snuggles in, laying her head softly on your shoulder, her hand curled beneath her chin. You try to distract yourself from the fact that her wrist is resting against the outer curve of your breast. This isn't supposed to be sexual. It's supposed to be comforting. You cuddle into her more, and she sighs.

"I'm not completely sure _what_ I want, Rach," she says, and you smile at the nickname again. "I know that I was hurt when Finn said that to you today." You nod, silently encouraging her. Your hand seems to be drawing lazy patterns on her arm and you wonder when that started, but you make no effort to stop it. "And I know that I completely lost track of time when we were in the Cheerios lounge."

"So did I," you confirm.

"Really?" Another nod from you, and she nuzzles tighter into you. "I've been thinking about that kiss all day," she admits softly, and your heart stops for just a moment. That's the absolute best news you've ever heard in your life.

You realize that, now, you're the one holding her and suddenly you feel like you might cry.

"I have too."

She props herself up a bit and gazes down at you. Self-consciously, you lick your lips and see that it draws her attention.

"I've been dying for you to kiss me again," you whisper, and now you have her eyes back on yours. She's nodding slowly and leaning down into you.

You sigh against one another and you wonder if she's thinking the same thing you are – that five hours is much too long a time to go without your lips touching hers. Her hand snakes across your belly and latches to your hip, drawing a moan up your throat. Your hand finds its way into her hair.

You don't realize it but you're pulling at her, and she allows herself to be readjusted so that she's laying half on top of you. You keep your hand working hard in her hair and the other you send down her back. When it reaches the hem of her sweater, you tuck your fingers in and let them caress skin. Quinn moans into your mouth, and you pull her tighter against you. Quinn moaning like that – moaning for _you_ – it just... _does_ something to you. You've never been this turned on in your life.

Oh _god_, was that her tongue?

She traces your bottom lip with her tongue and it feels unbelievable. You want to feel it again, so you keep your mouth tight against hers, refusing her access. She growls against you and runs her tongue hotly against your lip again, which makes you whimper into her. When she bites your lower lip gently, you're completely unprepared for it. You buck your hips involuntarily, searching for some kind of contact. It's absolutely maddening, what's Quinn is doing to you. She bites again, harder this time, and you gasp. She takes advantage of your open mouth and brushes her tongue more forcefully against your lip. You're groaning uncontrollably now, and when you finally meet her tongue with yours, you see stars. She's pulls herself further on top of you and you want nothing more than for her to grind down on you, but she's keeping your lower bodies well apart. Maybe she realizes what will happen if she initiates that kind of contact.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you're aware of how animalistic and needy this is. Your room is filled with the most erotic sounds and you can't tell any more where hers end and yours begin.

Your hands are everywhere on her back, scratching, rubbing, anything you can do to be touching her; hers are running up and down your sides and over your stomach – you had no idea how erotic it would be for someone to caress your stomach!

No one has ever touched you there before. No one has ever touched you _anywhere_ the way that Quinn has been touching you, not even when you made out with Finn and Puck. They were mostly about grinding and kissing, but Quinn... Quinn has been _exploring_. She's been driving you crazy inch by inch.

Her hand comes down even lower on the next pass and you realize that she's dangerously close to your butt.

Oh god, if she squeezes your ass, you'll die.

You want her to, yet you don't. It would feel so fucking good, you know it would. You want to feel that. At the same time, you realize that it wouldn't take much at all, with the condition she's worked you into, for you to orgasm right now. And you're not ready for that with her. Not yet.

No one has ever made you feel this good, and you relax into it. You allow yourself to get lost in kissing Quinn and don't pull away until you're both straining for breath and your lips feel slightly ... _buzzy_.

_Eight twenty four. _

You've been kissing for a half an hour! And, this just in! Quinn's kisses are officially your favorite thing in the world.

But you know that she came here to talk, not kiss. You run your fingers through her hair, and the face she makes might be the most erotic thing you've ever seen.

_You're_ the one causing Quinn Fabray to bite her lip and shudder out a breath.

"So. What did you want to talk to me about?" you say in your sweetest, most innocent voice and she just stares at you.

"Seriously, Rach?"

You can feel the grin developing on your face like a polaroid, and when it finally comes into focus, Quinn rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

"You're going to make me say it, huh?" she asks, and now you're the one biting your lip.

You can't help but trace your fingers on her face, softly. "Please," you whisper, suddenly sure that you must have imagined the afternoon hug, must have dreamt the evening kisses. You need her to tell you. You need her reassurance more than anything. "Please, Quinn. Tell me what you want."

She kisses the tip of your nose like she did in the Cheerios lounge, before she pulled you out of your dream and into the hallway. Her breath is warm and salty, and you're aching for her to kiss you again, but you know that you both need to hear what she's about to say.

"Rachel," she says, and you're hanging on every word, "I'm not... a hundred percent sure what I want. I care about you. A lot. I have for a long time." She's searching your eyes, and you hope she can read the emotions there that will show her that it's okay. That you want her too. Her eyes drift to your lips again and then she's laughing – you can feel her breasts against your own and you fight to keep your eyes from falling closed in arousal.

"What's so funny?" You know that you sound more annoyed than you really are and when Quinn only laughs harder, you know that she gets it. She gets _you_ and that's something that certainly sets her apart from most everyone else in your life.

"I can't help it," she says, "you're like this ridiculous _magnet_, Rach. Every time I'm anywhere near you, all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you." She pushes herself up off of you, and you press your hands against her back, pulling her back.

"Don't pull away, Quinn." You're desperate to keep her.

She laughs again. "We're trying to have a serious discussion and your lips keep hijacking my train of thought," she says but she allows herself to be pulled back down and settles more fully on top of you. You can feel every curve of her breasts now, and they feel _so_ good against you.

Her eyes are roaming your face and you can't help but think that she's looking for something she's never seen before. You feel open to her, laid bare, but you don't try to hide yourself from her. It's the most vulnerable you've ever felt, but you wouldn't trade it for anything. She's holding you here, keeping you grounded with her own body. You can't float away. You're perfectly safe.

"Stay the night," you ask before you can stop yourself, and her eyebrows lift higher than you've ever seen them.

"I'm sorry?"

You roll your eyes at how shocked she looks. "Quinn we _just_ started kissing. I'm not asking for sex. Not yet," you add as an afterthought, and you think she might be blushing. "I just think we have some things to talk about and I..." You swallow. Are you sure you really want to admit this? "I kind of have this fantasy of just... kissing you all night."

Now you _know_ she's blushing.

"You want to kiss me all night?" she asks and, apparently, there's enough blush in the world to go around for both of you.

You force yourself to try and sound flirtatious. "Think you're up for it?" You know that you just sound small and scared.

She quirks her eyebrow at you and you wish for the millionth time that you could do it back. You love that look on her. It's hot.

She holds your gaze for a moment and then finally nods. "Oh, I'm definitely up for it." Gosh, that sounds sexy. "Just let me just call my mom, okay? Don't go anywhere." She kisses your nose and pushes off the bed, and you wonder if that nose kiss is going to be a thing between you now. You hope so.

Quinn is in the hallway talking softly on the phone, and you stretch lazily on your back, staring at the ceiling.

You grin because you finally understand. This is the beginning of something breathtaking and alarming and beautiful.

You've finally found someone who makes sense with you, and you promise yourself that no matter how long Quinn chooses to be in your life, you will always make her feel special and adored. However long Quinn lets this last between you, you're going to enjoy it.

And when she finally falls back onto the bed and nestles herself in your arms, her fingers winding into your hair for the hundredth time today, you grin from ear to ear because you haven't felt this happy in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm so completely overwhelmed with the response to this fic. Eighty reviews and over three hundred favorites. On one chapter! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's because of your response and reviews that I've written another chapter. I wasn't going to originally, and I nearly didn't publish it because I'm a little afraid of not living up to the first chapter. That said, I hope you guys like it. As always, I'd love to hear what you think._

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><p>I still can't believe that I'm standing in Rachel Berry's hallway, informing my mother that I'm staying here tonight. This is the last place in the world I thought I'd be sleeping. Or not sleeping, if Rachel has her way. And I <em>really <em>want Rachel to have her way.

As I flip my phone closed, I can hear what Rachel earlier words echo in my ears. _I kind of have this fantasy of just... kissing you all night. _I can't help myself; I touch my fingers to my lips. I can still feel hers there.

I've imagined it happening so many times before, how she would kiss me. How it would feel to finally know how she tastes. I never dreamed she'd actually let me.

I've wanted to touch her for so long now. It's been torture in glee club, hearing her sing, watching her dance, wondering what she could make me feel with her body pressed against me.

And now I finally know. I _know_ what it feels like to hold her, to feel her, to taste her. And it's everything to me. Really. There is nothing else.

Today has been the most amazing day of my life, and now I get to hold her all night long. She _wants_ me to. The idea that she's fantasized about having me in her bed at night makes me bounce on my toes a few times before I knock softly against her bedroom door.

"Come in, Quinn." The way she says my name makes me think she's likes hearing it on her own lips.

She's lying on her bed and her hair is splayed over her pillow like it's floating in water. She's watching me, and I feel like she thinks I might run away. If she only knew how long I've waited for her, she wouldn't look so apprehensive.

I make sure the door is shut tight before I sit on the edge of her bed. I'm worried for a minute that things might be awkward again, but she smiles up at me and I think we might be passed that now. She tugs at my sweater – she's been doing that all night, and I'm finding out that I love it – and I fall slowly. She catches me next to her, and it feels like I've always been here, lying next to her. There is no other place for me.

I wind my fingers into her hair and hear her sigh. I think she likes it as much as I do.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi." She's got being coy down to an art.

I touch her arm, coaxing her to roll toward me. We're nose to nose, our knees are touching, and I've never felt this in synch with anyone else before. I'm always seeking approval from my superiors or berating those beneath me, but not tonight. Not with her.

She looks back at me evenly and I'm taken with everything she is all at once. The thing that unhinges me the most is the realization that she's unafraid. All those times she's dropped her eyes passing me in the hallway; each time she's stuttered and faltered in front of me; even then, she was better than me. Always better. Pure. Sweet. Honest.

But tonight, the way she's looking at me... It's like she's thinking those things about me, and I recognize it for what it is. Tonight, we're on level ground. Equals.

I'm relieved.

I want her to be able to see how much I adore her. I've gotten so good at masking it over the years, but I concentrate hard now, trying to let my emotions rise to the surface in my eyes. I can't have this night with her and fail to let her see what she means to me. I might never get another chance.

I wonder if she can see it. There's so much expression in her eyes, I feel like I'm drowning. She must see something in me because her breath catches.

"Kiss me, Quinn," she breathes, and I feel exactly what she feels. It's only been a few minutes, but it's too long.

I push forward on the pillow and catch her lips. Softly. There's no hurry tonight.

God, she tastes good.

Her fingers are toying with my belt loop, and I stretch my body straighter and pull her tighter to me, trapping her hand between us. I want to feel her whole body against mine again. I'm relieved when she melts into me and lets me wrap my arm around her waist. I could hold her forever.

She tucks one foot between my ankles, and I sigh into her at the intimate gesture. We're occupying the same space, and I love it. I want to be closer to her still, always closer.

I break the kiss and let my eyes map her face.

"I've never seen you this close before," I tell her. "Your eyelashes are so long." I think I'm surprised by this. They're gorgeous.

She blushes. "I know you must hear this all of the time, but you're beautiful, Quinn."

How on earth does she make her voice sound so experienced yet so vulnerable?

I _don't_ hear it all the time. In fact, I can't remember the last time I _did_ hear it. I think it might have been her, even. At prom. And before that, was it Puck? I won't let that count because he was only trying to get into my pants.

It dawns on me slowly. Not many people have actually ever told me that they think I'm beautiful. And honestly, after a while, a person begins to believe the silence.

For the first time tonight, I don't want to look at her. Her hands are on my face now, and I know that she can feel my tears on her thumbs. She doesn't stop moving them, and I'm trying to catalogue all of the things that single small action is stirring within me.

"Don't cry," she whispers. "Please don't cry." It makes me feel every ounce of how horrible I am. She doesn't deserve this.

I make a tiny hiccup and feel her lips on mine again. I can feel the comfort she's trying to give me, and it only pulls the ache in my chest tighter. I can hear her words from the Cheerios lounge as if she were murmuring them again in my ear, though her lips are pressed tightly to mine. _Like you're standing outside in the rain looking through a window... And you just want to be happy too. Happy with someone._

A person shouldn't have to feel this much all at once.

It's overwhelming, and I need her. I pull at her neck, and she lets me deepen the kiss. Our lips are moving heatedly now. Our bodies are rocking together. We're not grinding exactly, but with the way she's kissing me I can't force myself to keep still. Her hands are flying over my back, and before I know it, she's rolled backwards, dragging me with her so I'm lying on top of her again.

"Rachel," I say. It's a warning because with the way she's holding me, all I would have to do is rock my hips and we would be taking a significant step in our explorations. I feel like it's too much, too soon. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves?"

I know I sound unsure and scared, but I'm okay with that. I'm okay with her seeing me like this.

I can't believe how nervous she makes me. I like it that she can elicit that feeling in me. No one ever has before, not like this. It's a _good_ nervous.

"Sorry." She grins and blushes at the same time. It might be the most adorable thing I've ever seen. How can someone so crushingly adorable make the blood hammer between my legs like it's an animal railing against the bars of a cage to get out?

"I like this," I clarify. "I just... Can we slow down a little bit? Just kissing, right?"

God, I really am the president of the celibacy club. Except that the reason I'm slowing her down is because, this time, I actually _want_ her.

She's gracious, as usual. "Of course we can, Quinn. It's what I want too." I can't tell if she means she wants to slow down or she wants _me._ Either way, I'm good.

I roll off her; she scoots back a little and then she's standing up.

"I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to tell my dads that you're staying. Do you... want to change?"

I suddenly feel like a virgin bride on her wedding night. My lips feel so dry. I'm in way over my head. She pulls a tank top and a pair of shorts from her dresser. "Do you mind wearing something of mine?"

I can feel the warmth spreading through my chest at her words. "Not at all, Rach._" _

She sets them on the foot of her bed before pressing her lips to my temple. "I'll be right back," she murmurs into my hair. "Don't go anywhere. Okay?"

Trust me. I'm not going anywhere.

While she's gone, I change into her pajamas. I turn in the mirror and frown. She's smaller than me and the shorts are short enough to just show where my skin starts to curve up in the back. The tank doesn't meet the shorts all the way and I find myself tugging the material down, which only serves to show off the swell of my breasts more. The material is thin; there is very little left to the imagination. I grab my bra, intending to put it back on when I hear a light knock on the door.

"Quinn? Are you decent?"

I chew my lip and survey myself in the mirror again. Decent is so not on the list of words that I would use to describe myself right now.

"Uhm..." I start, but she's pushed the door open and I'm standing before her in next to nothing, my own bra dangling from my hand. I drop it on the floor and stare at the place where it fell. I try to figure out what to do with my arms.

I finally decide on folding my arms around my stomach. My cheeks are burning and all I want to do is wrap myself in some kind of blanket and hide from her. A person can become captain of a nationally ranked cheerleading squad and she can have guys chasing her down the hallways trying to get a glimpse up her skirt, but that chubby little girl she once was will always be the one inside, looking out through doubtful eyes.

There's a reason I put out for Puck that night. I needed validation. I still do.

I wish she would say something.

"Oh wow," she finally breathes, and my eyes fly to her face.

Is she serious?

"Hey," I mumble. She has to see how much I'm blushing.

She's standing right in front of me now, toe to toe. I can feel her tiny puffs of breath on my throat as she stares up at me, wide eyed.

"Quinn," she says, and I try my best to focus on her. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." I look for any indication that she's exploiting my insecurities, but I can't see anything out of place. She looks completely sincere. Although, I remind myself, she _is_ a very good actress. "You are. But I can see that you're uncomfortable. Let me get you a different shirt. Okay?"

The words _the most beautiful girl I've ever seen _bounce around in my head. I feel so lightheaded. I wonder if this is what swooning feels like. I don't want to be uncomfortable in front of her, but I nod because I really am self-conscious and am kind of relieved that she can see it. It doesn't seem to bother her – she's rummaging through a drawer. She finally pulls out a t-shirt and hands it to me. I pull it over my head and it's still tight, but I don't feel like I'm naked anymore.

God, it _smells_ like her. I feel surrounded by her, and my knees are literally going weak. Who knew that was a real thing?

"Is that better?" she asks, and I nod numbly. I'm still too embarrassed to speak right now.

She leads me by the hand to the bed. I think of all the control I had today and now that she's seen me nearly naked, I feel completely lost. I stand there hopelessly until she puts her arms around my waist, rests her head on my shoulder. This feels familiar.

We stand like that until I feel myself start to thaw, and eventually I'm enough of myself that I can drape my arms over her shoulders.

"Welcome back," she tosses up softly, and I kiss her nose. I'd do it all the time if she'd let me.

"Think you're cute, huh?" I'm relieved that I've finally found my voice again.

"I think _you_ are," she says, and I feel warmth spreading through my chest once again. She traces her fingers over the waistband at my lower back, her fingers kissing the sensitive skin back there. "I really do think you're beautiful, Quinn." I'm grinning like a little girl on Christmas morning, and I pull her closer and bury my face in her hair because her eyes are just so _much_ for me to take right now. I love her hair. "You know, for being the senior head Cheerio, you sure are bashful."

"And _you_ sure are talkative, Rach," I mumble. She giggles against me, and I know we're okay.

"I'm going to get ready for bed, okay?" She changes her clothes right in front of me, and I avert my eyes, not sure where to look. She flips the overheard light off leaving just the soft glow of her bedside lamp. When she comes back to me and takes my hand, she's wearing shorts and a tank top like mine. She looks amazing.

"Do you want to lie down?" she asks. I love the hopefulness in her voice. Like she's never wanted to do anything else. Neither have I, if I'm being honest.

She slides in under the covers and pulls me after her. I curl up on my side facing her, and it occurs to me that I'm in Rachel Berry's bed. Lying here beneath the covers with the skin of our legs touching is a much more intimate situation than lying on top of the covers fully clothed. It takes me a minute to adjust.

And since she's letting me look at her, I do.

She's gorgeous. Breathtaking, even. I know it's cliché, but I honestly feel like I can't breathe lying here next to her.

There's warmth radiating off of her. She runs her hand up my arm and follows my shoulder until she's toying with the cross around my neck.

"I'm happy you're here," she says, and I shiver. I never thought I'd hear her say those words. I'm so used to her flinching away from me. "I know it's still early, but since we're not planning on sleeping much tonight, I thought we could just... lay here and talk?"

I felt so confident all day, protecting her, but now here at night in her pajamas with her lying next to me, watching me expectantly, I'm at a loss. Maybe this was a bad idea. _But she wants you here. She said so herself._

I'm suddenly more terrified than I have ever been in my life. What am I doing here? _You're fulfilling her fantasy._

"I don't know how to do this," I whisper.

She's still playing with my cross. "We don't have to do anything," she answers, and I know she's being honest.

"Do you want to talk, Rach?"

"You know I do," she says shyly, and I smile then. I can't help it.

I feel a little stronger now, and I lift my arm. She takes the hint and wiggles herself closer to me, lets me drape my arm over her side. I can't help but pull her tighter into my body. Our noses are touching now, and I'm breathing her breath. I'm a little dizzy with how intimate this is. I don't ever want to stop drawing circles on her back.

"You don't always have to be the strong one, Quinn." We've been lying in the quiet for so long that I feel like I might have imagined her words.

"I don't?"

She shakes her head and now I'm playing with her hair. I think it might be my favorite thing in the world.

"You can... let your guard down around me. Whatever you're feeling. I won't betray you."

Leave it to Rachel Berry to bring up betrayal at a time like this.

"Are you always so intense?" I ask.

"Do you really have to ask me that?" She's being playful, flirty. It looks good on her.

"I've never been in your bed at night," I say. I'm trying to flirt back, but I feel completely lost. "There could be times you're not intense that I don't know about."

She pretends to think, and I love it that she's flirting with me so easily. "Everything I do is intense." The way she says it sends a shudder through me and I close my eyes to steady myself.

"I'll make a note of it," I manage.

I've been tucking the same strand of hair behind her ear for what seems like forever now. I want to kiss her again, but there's plenty of time, so I rub my nose lightly against hers instead.

"I'm glad I didn't get that nose job," she says. "I don't know if I could kiss somebody with the exact same nose as me."

I love the way her mind works.

I trace my fingers over her face, softly. I'm trying to commit her to memory in case she never lets me touch her like this again. "I like your nose," I say. "I liked it then."

"Then why did you offer to give me yours?" she asks quietly, and I can't tell if she's curious or upset. I decide she's curious. You don't have to ask yourself if Rachel Berry is upset about something.

I want to be honest, but I'm not sure how much I should say.

"It was what you wanted."

"But... you hated me." She's really trying to work this out, and I feel bad that I'm laughing softly against her. I feel a little more like myself now, like I have some control again. The embarrassment from her seeing so much of me before is finally wearing off.

"I didn't hate you, Rach," I say. "I never hated you."

She's going to keep asking questions and I have to remind myself that this is okay. This is why I'm here. Just remember to breathe, and be honest. If she kicks me out, she kicks me out.

"But..." Her eyes are so lovely. "Your nicknames... RuPaul. Treasure Trail. Manhands."

"Were designed to make you feel... less feminine. Well, to make _me_ feel like you were less feminine."

God, those eyes can get so wide sometimes. I feel like I might fall in.

"Because?"

"Seriously, Rach? You're one of the smartest girls I know."

"I just want to hear it," she answers quietly, dropping her eyes for the first time. I'm reminded again that she's my equal, especially when she's like this. She's way ahead of her time.

"I was scared of being attracted to you," I admit immediately, desperate to keep her from hiding from me. "It was a way to –" I want to be truthful without offending her. "To draw a line between how you look and how I felt. If that makes any sense," I mumble. I'm doing a bang-up job with this, that's for sure. She's going to hate me for saying these things.

"How I look?"

I roll my eyes. "You're a _girl_. You're gorgeous, but you're a girl."

"You drew... _pictures _of me on the bathroom walls."

I want to give her answers, but this is a little close to home, her bringing up specifics like this. I shift uncomfortably and expect her to pull me closer but she doesn't this time. She really wants to know about our past. "Can we please talk about something else?" I'm not above begging. But when she looks at me like _that_, I turn my avoidance into a sigh. "I don't really have a good reason for the pictures, Rachel. The only thing I can... Have you ever been inside the guys locker room?"

She thinks for a moment; she's remembering. Her eyes go wide again. "Oh," she says softly. And then, "Oh."

Right. _Oh._

I'm so ashamed of myself. I tell her so.

"Quinn," she starts, but I interrupt her.

"Please don't make me talk about it any more, Rach. Once I figured it all out, I stopped harassing you. It's been years, and I still feel horrible about it."

"I forgive you." She says it quickly, but it's completely sincere. She's not judging. In fact, there's complete tenderness in her voice. She's just trying to understand.

And I'm determined to give her that, no matter how painful this is for me. I'll at least give her that.

I try not to sound defeated when I say, "Go ahead, Rach."

She hesitates, and I nod gently, encouraging her; my nose rubs hers. I'm trying desperately to keep my walls down. We both need this.

She pecks me softly on the lips and then, "When did you... figure it out? Why you treated me differently?"

I don't even have to think about that one. "When you fired Dakota Stanley," I say immediately. She looks surprised.

"You're the one that had me hire him."

"Yes, because of Coach Sylvester. I was only bullied, but you were hurt. And you _still_ did what I couldn't do." She has to know how brave she is. This can't be the first time she's hearing this. I laugh. "Everybody thinks I'm this mega bitch, but I'm not. I'm really kind of a coward. I stood up to Coach that day because of you. For the very first time. That was when I first respected you."

She's got her fingers on my cheekbones now, a look of wonder on her face. I feel like she's seeing me for the first time. Maybe she is.

I'm shocked to realize that I _want_ her to see me. Good and bad. Everything. It's hers, if she wants it.

This might all be news to her, but she's still smart. "You were still mean to me after that. I sang with Finn and you were jealous."

I laugh again. "Exactly. You sang with Finn." I shift against her. "I wasn't jealous of _you._"

She finally gets it. "Oh." This has been a night of revelations.

"But then when Coach cut me from the squad and you sang to _me_, I thought..." I don't really want to say any more, but I know that she'll ask me. And I know that I'll never tell her no.

"Tell me."

"I felt like you might have cared about me a little. I mean," I roll my eyes, "I knew you were head over heels for Finn, but I thought that maybe you might have felt something for me then."

"I _was_ still head over heels for Finn," she confirms, and I die a little inside. "But I did care about you, Quinn. You have to know that."

I smile affectionately at her. "You care about everyone. You're a good person."

She's fiddling with my cross again, and I wonder if it's an excuse to let her knuckles graze my collarbone. It feels good, even through the t-shirt, and I wish she would touch me there all of the time.

"After that," I continue, "I started paying attention. I started looking forward to rehearsals. If you weren't there, I was disappointed. It was the only time I could really watch you and smile at you without anyone questioning me. Without me questioning _myself_," I admit quietly. How much of this can I reveal to her, really? How much can she take? "And then when you told Finn the truth about him not being the father..." She buries her face in my shoulder and I can tell that she's upset by the memory. I hope she understands that it's not a sad one for me. It's happy. "Rach," I say. "Look at me?" When she looks up, there are tears in those gorgeous eyes, and I hate myself for putting them there. _Again._ "Once again, you were there for me. You did the brave thing for me when I couldn't do it. And when you came to me after... I knew. I knew that I l-liked you." God, did I _have_ to stutter? Pathetic.

"You liked me?" Her voice at this moment makes her sound like she's not the strongest girl I know, but it's an illusion. She definitely is, without a doubt.

"I wasn't ready to admit it then, but that's when I knew for sure," I confirm. "But I'd stopped harassing you long before. I'm so sorry that I ever did, Rachel. I really am."

She rolls her eyes. She's been doing that a lot lately. I wonder if she's picked it up from Santana. "I already forgave you for that, Quinn. Please don't apologize any more." She snuggles into me, and that makes me believe her more than anything else.

"Okay," I say, and I hold her.

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, Rach."

I feel like I can't say her name enough.

"Do you realize that it's been over thirty minutes since you've kissed me?"

I study her face for a minute, and I wonder if she knows how delightful she is. Seriously, she delights me.

I cup my hand behind her neck and guide her lips to mine and the sigh she makes is so soft and content that any doubt I might have ever had in my life is banished forever from my mind. This is where I'm supposed to be, right here. In Rachel's arms.

I try to remember what it felt like to kiss Finn or Puck, Sam. And I can't. The three of them could combine powers and still not hold a candle to Rachel right now.

Her body feels like it's on fire against me and the breaths she's panting into my mouth are making me delirious.

"Rachel," I breathe into her, and she hums back at me. I feel possessed. I need her like I've never needed anyone before, need to feel her everywhere. I tip my head back as far as it will go on the pillow, and she rests her forehead on my chin. I have to tell her what I need. "Would you..." I lick my lips – I've never asked for anything like this before, not from anyone, and suddenly I'm more nervous than I thought possible. "Uh, kiss my neck again?"

Her moan at my request is the sexiest thing I've ever heard in my life. Her body shudders against me, and I know I've hit a nerve. She likes hearing me tell her what I want, I realize. I feel like I might cry. "It's been driving me crazy all day. I need to feel you again. Please," I say and realize that it sounds a little like begging.

And I don't remotely care.

When her hot mouth touches my skin, I can't control my own body and arch into her, hard. I feel her hands clawing at my shoulder blades, dragging me closer, her lips and teeth and tongue all over my neck all at once.

I wish I could moan like her, drive her on, but I'm so caught up in the things she's making me feel, all I can do is hold my eyes closed and pant through my open mouth. I'm so affected by her that I don't even know what the rest of my body's doing. My hands could be anywhere on her body and I would have no idea.

The sounds she's making against my skin are so sexy that I don't really worry about it. Whatever's happening between us right now, she's totally into it, so I just let it happen.

_God._ I had no idea that someone _just_ kissing my neck could make me feel like this.

"Rachel," I breathe. She's moaning and pouring soft cries into the crook of my neck, biting and licking and it's making me feel like I might completely lose control of myself and take her right there. "God, you sound so sexy right now. I love the sounds you make, Rachel." She's on the side of my neck now, below my ear. She trails her tongue down and follows the crease along to my collarbone, pulling the t-shirt down with shaking fingers to kiss me there. "Oh, god, Rach. _Please._" I don't know what I'm asking her for, but I can't think of anything right now with her tongue doing with it's doing.

"What do you want?" she asks me again for the second time tonight, but she's not being sweet now. She's growling like some kind of animal as she pulls me roughly against her. "Tell me."

Suddenly, I know what I want, and I feel embarrassed again for a second, but I push it down. My need for her is stronger than my embarrassment.

"Suck me," I gasp out, and she groans like something's ripping her apart from the inside out. Then her mouth latches and she sucks. Hard. "_Oh!_ Right there."

I know where my hands are now. They're in her hair, pinning her head to this place, encouraging her to suck my skin and bruise me. For her. I need this.

"Harder, Rach," I manage. And then when she complies, "Oh, fuck."

She's slowing down now, and it's a good thing because I could feel a specific tension coiling in my stomach, and if she'd continued at that pace, I don't think I could have kept myself from coming.

She's holding me and kissing my neck softly now, slowly, and I feel myself floating back to earth.

When I finally tip my head forward again, she pulls back to survey me. "God, Rachel. Where did you learn to do that?"

She grins. "I didn't... I mean, I never have... Not like that."

I press our foreheads together and sigh, trying to calm my body down. I can't believe she got me that worked up just from kissing my neck.

"Really?" I can feel my words slurring. It's almost like I'm drunk. "Never?" She shakes her head. "Well, you're amazing at it."

She's beaming at me, and I grin lazily. I can't help feeling like the cat that ate the fucking canary. And, apparently, Rachel Berry sucking on my neck makes me swear like a sailor.

She settles into me, and I stroke her hair. She lets me kiss her lightly.

"You have the most amazing eyes," I tell her. It's true. She's tracing her fingers on my neck, feather light. "Is it bruised?"

She bites her lip, nods. Does she look... what is it? Apprehensive? My god, she was attacking my neck and making me writhe against her in pleasure mere seconds ago and now she's suddenly shy and worried?

"Hey," I say. "Are you okay with this? I know it's a lot to adjust to."

"No, I'm fine, I just... You're _Quinn Fabray_," she says.

Now I'm confused. "And?"

"And, nothing. That's it. You're Quinn Fabray and I'm Rachel Berry."

I smirk. I can't help it. She's adorable. "Nice to meet you," I say, and she punches me lightly on the shoulder.

"Quinn, I'm being serious."

"So am I."

She kind of half sits up and her hair falls lightly over her shoulder. _Mmmmm. Her shoulder._ I'm suddenly flooded with the desire to kiss her bare shoulders for hours.

"Quinn," she says, and I meet her gaze guiltily, knowing I've been caught.

"Sorry," I mumble, "you just have amazing shoulders." She blushes, and I take this as a good sign. I push myself up to meet her. "You're unbelievably sexy, Rachel."

I hold her eyes for as long as I can until my head dips too far down. I press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her bare shoulder and she hisses into my hair. I pull back, watch her eyes.

"Do you like that?" I ask, and she nods shakily. She's trying to control her breathing, and I trace my finger over the place I just kissed. "Can I kiss you there again?"

She groans and collapses to the bed, and I follow like I'm tethered to her. I force myself to keep it slow and sensual, kissing over her shoulders, trailing my tongue in circles, sucking lightly. Her hand is fisted in my hair and I move slowly down her opposite arm, following her bicep with my tongue.

Finally, she stops me. "Quinn." Her voice is broken, and I fall in love with the sound. "Quinn, stop."

I hover over her and smile. "Too much?" I ask gently. She nods apologetically, and I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay, sweetheart," I say and her eyes widen impossibly. I honestly hadn't meant to. But now that I have, I love the way it sounds. "Is... that okay?"

She's still shocked, but she nods slowly.

I settle down next to her and pull her into me once again. I hold her while she controls her breathing.

"It's late," she finally says. My back is to the clock, but I don't doubt that it's past midnight. We've been talking and kissing for hours. Her lips are swollen and puffy and she's never looked more beautiful. "I'm going to get the light, okay?"

She reaches over and snaps off the light, plunging us into darkness.

"Quinn," she says, and her voice seems softer somehow.

"Yeah, Rach."

"Can you... Would you take your t-shirt off now?"

I consider her request. It couldn't hurt in the dark. In answer to her, I shrug it off and toss it aside, leaving me in Rachel's tank top.

She pulls me to her and I relish the feel of her skin. I didn't think it would be possible to feel any closer to her, but I do, lying here like this in the dark.

"Can I ask you a question?" I don't really know how to ask this, but I really need to hear her say it again. I can feel her nodding against my chest. "Did you really fantasize about kissing me all night?"

She laughs. "Are you still hung up on that?"

"It just kind of blows my mind to think about," I admit under the cover of darkness. She pulls me closer. There's been a lot of that going around.

There's so much silence for awhile that I'm worried she might have fallen asleep. "I've wanted you to kiss me for a very long time, Quinn." Her words save me and ignite me and destroy me all at once. I feel like I'm being pulled in a million directions.

"You have?"

"I have," she confirms. "Of course, I never dreamed you actually would."

"Me neither."

She's fiddling with my necklace again in the dark. "Why did you?"

"That's a good question. I think... I think that I was tired of trying to keep myself away from you." I laugh again softly, breathe in her hair. "I told you, Rachel. You're like a magnet. It was exhausting to stay away."

She seems to like this answer, if her lips on mine are any indication. I let her deepen the kiss, allow my hands to roam all over her back. When she sucks on my tongue, I nearly black out and I can't help it – I run my hands over her ass and squeeze her into me. The moan she releases into my mouth has me shaking against her. I squeeze again and she bucks.

"Oh my god, Quinn," she moans. She's gulping air and I can sense that she's fighting hard not to rock against me. Her hands are digging hard into my back, and soft cries are dying in the back of her throat as I kiss her and knead my hands into her.

I have to admit, I've never really thought about another girl's ass before, but the way Rachel is responding to what I'm doing to her, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to _not_ think about it now.

It's fucking sexy.

"God, Quinn, if you don't stop squeezing my ass, I'm going to come."

My entire world grinds to a halt at her words. I can't breathe, my hands still their massaging, the only thing I can hear was my own heart hammering in my ears. Rachel's body goes rigid the moment the words are out of her mouth.

I know she must think that I'm freaking out, but the truth is, I've never had anyone say anything so wanton to me before. Especially not because of something I was doing. It's enough that I feel like if she moves, I'll push her down on the bed and bury my fingers as deeply into her as they'll go.

It wouldn't take much at all to growl into her neck _maybe I __**want**__ you to come_ and slip my leg between her thighs. Encourage her to ride me until her orgasm breaks over her and she comes undone in my arms.

Okay, these thoughts are not helping cool me down.

"Quinn?" she sounds so timid, like I might run out the door at any moment. I need to reassure her like she's done for me.

"Shhh, Rach. You didn't say anything wrong." My hands are still on her, unmoving. "Give me a minute, okay? You're so... god, you're so fucking sexy. I just... need a minute."

I focus, finally am able to slide my hands up to her lower back. The movement makes her shudder into me and clutch at me frantically. I hold her until she's calm.

"Did you just...?" I can't bring myself to say it.

She shakes her head furiously. "No. It just... felt really good." She breathes into my neck, and electricity shoots through my body. "You feel so good, Quinn. You make _me_ feel good."

I feel myself smirk. "Yeah, well. It's all about the teasing..." I can feel her laughing silently against me.

"And you're _so good_ at the teasing," she tells me.

"Thank you."

"No. Thank _you_," she says.

"Nerd," I say, and she huffs.

"Nerd? What happened to 'sweetheart?'"

I kiss the tip of her nose in response, and she snuggles into me. "You're not going to sleep, are you?" I ask. "I'm still working on fulfilling your fantasy."

She sighs. A happy sigh. She sounds so content. I want her to make that sound for the rest of her life. "You fulfill all of my fantasies."

"Not yet," I promise.

We lay in silence and I know she's playing my words in her head. I can almost feel the question she wants to ask me. When she finally does, she's barely audible.

"Really? This isn't just a one-time night for you?"

I laugh because I can't help it. She can be so ridiculous. "Are you serious right now?" There's no response and I know she is. "Rachel, you absolutely unhinge me. I can't think straight when you're around." She giggles and I roll my eyes and nudge her playfully. "I want to touch you and kiss you all the time. I spent the whole day practically glued to you. How can you ask me if this is a one-time thing?"

She doesn't say anything and I take the opportunity to kiss her again. Gently. Tenderly. I want her to feel me taking care of her again.

"I want us to wait until we build a foundation before we make love," I admit and, though my cheeks are burning, I'm not sorry I said it.

"Quinn." Her voice is low, and I'd give anything to know what she's thinking. "What are you saying?"

I take a deep breath. "I'm saying, I care about you. Deeply. And we're graduating this year. And I don't want to lose you when we do."

Her breath catches, and I wish I could see her face.

I have no idea how to read her in the dark.

"You want to still be with me at graduation?" she asks.

"And after." I hear her sniffle and my chest constricts. "Rachel, sweetheart, please don't cry." I smooth her hair. "I don't know what the future holds, but I know that I want you with me. Okay?" I'm hoping she agrees. Please, god, let her agree.

The kiss she gives me is unlike all the others. It's deep and sure and full of promise. I kiss her back, hoping that I'm returning it with all the emotion within me, everything I feel for her. I want her to feel it too.

It's with this kiss that we melt into the night and lose ourselves in one another. Our kisses turn from slow and lazy, exploring one another's mouths and necks, to heated and needy. I fall in love with the way Rachel unabashedly moans and whimpers and she reacts almost violently when I husk my desires into her ear. We're learning one another, and we're taking all night to do it.

When Rachel finally falls asleep, the sky is tinged with the creeping first light of dawn, and our breathing is mixed together, our heads on the same pillow. I've never felt so safe or so happy in my life. I watch her for a minute and wonder for the millionth time tonight how on earth I got lucky enough to be holding her in my arms.

I place one last kiss on the tip of her nose, a promise of our future together, and let myself fall slowly beside her, knowing that she'll catch me.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I continue to be overwhelmed with the response. Once again, I'm a little nervous continuing this, since it was originally meant to be a one-shot, and I'm still a little nervous about the subsequent chapters living up to the first. But I do have one or two things that I want to deal with in regards to Quinn's psyche for this fic. I'm envisioning maybe one more chapter, possibly two before it wraps up. Again, thank you guys for your awesomeness. I love being a part of this fandom. :)_

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><p>When your eyes finally flutter open, the feeling in your chest locks you down and you're forced to look it in the eye. You've never felt it before and, even now, you're not sure you can identify it for what it is. You only know that you're laying in your own bed, cradled in the softest, strongest arms.<p>

You're anchored and floating at the same time.

You stir, they tighten around you. A nose burrows deeper into your neck, and you shiver.

_Quinn._

Memories from last night roll over you, wave after wave; they rise and crest and break over your heart until you're delirious in your happiness.

She held you. She told you she wanted to be with you, wanted to follow you and take you with her into the future.

You can still hear her pleading with you to suck her neck – you wonder if the mark you left there is now a swirl of purple against perfect creamy skin.

The feeling rises again in your chest and spreads through your body like sunlight breaking through a thunderstorm – you never knew that you had the ability to feel _this_ happy. Waking up beside Quinn... if Neverland were a real place, _this_ is the memory that would make you fly.

Other memories come now, and you lose yourself in the flood. Quinn in your tank top, flustered and blushing as her nipples begged you to touch, to taste. Quinn, biting softly on your ear. Quinn, asking in a breathy, timid voice if you really fantasized about her. The way your heart fluttered at the promise of tomorrow, the way she wanted to build a foundation with you. A foundation.

You and Quinn.

Rachel and Quinn. Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray.

Your names sound like they've always been meant to be said together.

You replay Quinn's voice, raspy and tender, telling you that she cares deeply for you. That's what she said. _Deeply._

She's certainly holding you like she does. One arm through the crook in your neck, draped down your chest; the other wrapped snuggly around your abdomen, holding you solidly against her body. You trace your fingers over her skin, following the line of arm down and up again. She's so soft. The bulge of her bicep, the bend in her elbow, her wrist. The skin is delicate but the muscles that ripple beneath it belong to an athlete. She's strong.

Lying here with her, sunlight streaming through the slats in your blinds, you're struck by the intensity of Quinn's dual nature.

You've mostly seen her hurting. Even when she schemed and manipulated, tormented you, you didn't think she was a bad person; you only saw her as injured, a helpless thing trapped by her own world. Void of acceptance for herself, for anyone. But you've also seen her vulnerable. Fighting for and then giving up Beth. Finn's anger over her deceit. Losing her family. Losing herself.

The Quinn that has her body wrapped around you now seems to be some kind of amalgamation of the two.

_This_ Quinn, the Quinn who spent the night in your bed, pressing her mouth feverishly to yours, _this_ Quinn is a nurturer. A protector. A giver of secrets and a taker of tears.

You get the feeling that she sees you, _really_ sees you, and you never thought anybody ever would. You try to talk yourself out of it; she's just Quinn. A girl who takes what she wants and leaves what she doesn't. A girl who doesn't feel.

But she _does_ feel. She showed you as much last night. She feels more than anybody you've ever known, and it scares you. She's like a storm, capable of sweeping you away, of capsizing you. Of raining and railing and thundering against you. She's somehow volatile and steady at the same time. A sleeping storm.

She intrigues you.

"Good morning," she kisses into your ear. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Of course she's awake. You've only been laying here completely absorbed in yourself, overanalyzing everything she gave you last night. You're ruining your fairy dust moment. "How long have you been awake?"

She sighs so softly that her breath is a flutter on your skin. "I never really went to sleep," she admits.

You explore her arm for a while before your find her fingers and weave yours through them. You let a silence fall down over the two of you and wrap you up tightly together. You force your mind to quiet down by concentrating on the even breathing in your ear. It's comfortable and safe and after a while you'd wonder if she's finally fallen asleep if it weren't for her fingers drawing lazy circles on your stomach.

She breaks the silence with a whisper against you. "Tell me what you're thinking?" You can hear a thousand different emotions in her voice, so tangled together that you can't begin to sort them out. The fairy dust moment is back in full force, and you're flying again and pulling her with you.

You caress the palm of her hand with your fingertips, and she gasps softly.

"Do you like that, Quinn?" you murmur. You can feel her nodding faintly. She seems to have forgotten how to speak. You like it that she wants you touching her. You want to touch her forever. "How do you feel about last night?" you ask.

She presses her forehead into the back of your head and the arm around your waist flexes. You run your hand up it and back just to feel her muscles working.

She's thinking.

"I don't... I'm not a very open person, Rach," she mumbles into your hair. "I can't talk about the things I feel like you can. I'm not good at being vulnerable."

This girl in your bed is a mystery. You want to know her. You want her to show you her heart and ask you if you'll keep it for her.

God, you want to keep it for her, and it's only been a day!

You want to tell her all the things _you_ feel. You want to say that no one has ever made you feel this happy just by wrapping you up in her arms. That you could kiss her and hold her and feel her pressing into you for the rest of your life and never be tired of it. That no matter what you have to face in the future, even if it turns out to be horrible and depressing, it won't ever conquer you if you can just have her look into your eyes forever.

But you can't say those things. You can't show her _your_ heart because you didn't even know until yesterday that you feel those things. It's all so new and overwhelming.

And what if it dissipates just as quickly as it bubbled up within you?

You suddenly feel sad, like maybe you feel _too much_ and can only scare her away and won't ever deserve her. You're a mess and you know it. And _she's_ a mess and you know it. You have no illusions about Quinn Fabray. You know she's not perfect; you've seen her at her worst, and she's seen you at yours. You feel like nothing good can possibly come from the things you're feeling. You're both far too strong and stubborn to work together.

God. Now you _know_ you feel too much. Instead of burdening her with your crazy, you force a chuckle, even though you're starting to panic.

You're _ruining_ this, Rachel Berry. Stop it this instant.

"Well, I don't think it's any secret that I don't ever listen to people anyway, so technically we're a match made in heaven," you say and feel relieved when she laughs into your hair. Like, _really_ laughs. You don't know that you've ever seen Quinn Fabray let loose with an actual rib-shaking laugh, and you're kind of disappointed that you didn't get to see her face for this one.

You make a promise to yourself that you will make her laugh like that again and that you'll be looking into her eyes when you do.

"Good point," she says, and you smile because, even though you missed it, you're the one who made that happy sound come out of her.

You debate whether or not to say what you're thinking at this moment. It could be too much too soon; it could be exactly what she needs. You decide to present her with your thoughts and trust her enough to respond honestly and with maturity.

"Quinn, could you maybe... I don't want to push or guilt you into talking about things you don't feel comfortable talking about, but maybe... we could help each other? You can rely on me to listen to you without judgment and I could rely on you to force me to stop thinking about myself for five minutes. It could work," you add feebly and shut your eyes tightly. She just _said_ she didn't want to talk and you're pushing. You stop breathing while you wait for her to react. What is she thinking? What is she feeling?

"I'll try, Rach," she says quietly. You hope to god you haven't asked too much of her. "I feel like... god, my heart is so full." She's nuzzling now, and somehow you know that it's out of shyness more than intimacy. Though, you suppose they sometimes could be considered one in the same. She buries her face further into your hair. "I feel... like I held myself back for so long. I kept myself from you for _so_ long. And now that I've held you, _kissed_ you," she murmurs, "I don't ever want to not be touching you." She's breathing so evenly, and you want to respond, to tell her all the things you're feeling, but you promised. So you continue to caress her palm while you wait for her to open up. You glide around her hand, ghosting over her knuckles. Her fingers are long and graceful; lovely. _She's_ lovely.

"Go on," you encourage softly, and she sighs again.

"I feel _happy_," she says. "You make me feel happy, Rachel." You're running your fingers up and down her arm now, pouring as much comfort and support as you can into your touch. You never knew a single sentence could make you feel joy all the way down to your toes. "I know I don't deserve you—" You can't help it, you interrupt her with a shocked gasp (how very Rachel Berry of you), but she nudges you and murmurs, "you promised," and you settle down instantly. Maybe she really _is_ good for you.

It's a few moments before she gathers herself again. And then she takes a deep breath like she's about to dive underwater. "I'm happy and excited and nervous and scared and a little intimidated, and I just wish I could see into the future and just _know_ so I don't have to worry any more. And I just, I just..." She groans, frustrated. And you wait, because she asked you to. "This isn't making sense. I just, I feel like I want to protect you and have you save me at the same time. And I _don't_ deserve you, Rachel, no matter how much you protest. I'm a liar and a manipulator. A horrible person, really."

You can feel yourself tensing. You don't like how she's describing herself. This isn't the conversation you should have in bed the morning after you've kissed all night and you feel so ridiculously _happy._ But she's still talking, and you listen because you're relying on her to bring you out of yourself. "I've done terrible things, Rach. Hurt a _lot_ of people. But..." Another deep breath. Another dive into the deep end. "_You_ make me want to be a better person, Rachel. I look at you, in your eyes, and I can see how you see me. You see me like... like the woman that someday I want to be."

She's breathing heavier now with the effort of her confession, and you let her hold you while her words sink into your heart, into your skin.

How did you never know that she could be this sweet? This powerful?

You frantically search for something, for anything, to give back to her. She's let so much pour out and into you that she must be completely empty. You need to fill her back up somehow.

"Quinn." It isn't a question. You mean it to be a point of focus, of validation. Your heart races at her words; your mind is foggy. In the five years you've known Quinn Fabray, you've never seen her this vulnerable, not even when she was pregnant and homeless and devastated. You don't know how to respond. She deserves so much better than this frozen, mute thing lying beside her. She deserves to know how she makes your heart race; how she makes you feel like you can _be_ something. Instead, all she gets from you is, "you're better with words than you think you are," and it's so quiet that you may as well not even have said it at all. It's the best you can do, under the circumstances. You feel like you've failed her somehow.

"Yeah?" She sounds so uncertain. You can do better than this.

You can do better for her.

"Yeah. That was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me." You say it because it's true. She needs to understand. There isn't enough love in the world you can pour into your voice for Quinn in this moment. You'll help her understand. There is nothing for her to fear when you're wrapped up in each other like this.

But, her words! The things she has unlocked in your heart! This is not the Quinn you've known for years. This is a girl who is brave and romantic. A girl who knows herself well. A girl who is very, _very_ good with words. And yet she's still somehow so unsure of herself in this department. So unsteady.

How on earth did someone so wonderful become so broken?

When she doesn't respond, doesn't move, you're nearly mad with wanting to know what she's thinking. There was a time when you would have pressed. You would have pressed Finn, Jesse. You would have needled and pried until they were sick of your voice, and they would have told you as much. And you would have cried. You would have ruined the moment forever, turned this fairy dust moment ugly and harsh, given up your ability to fly.

But, somehow, you're not even tempted to press, and you're certain that it has nothing whatsoever to do with you. It's because of Quinn. You want her safe. You want her protected. Quinn keeps you from wrecking the moment without even knowing it. She has steadied you, made you stronger in one day, and she's not even aware.

It makes her all the more beautiful to you.

But, her words! Your head is reeling, your heart is soaring.

She's like your own personal Shakespeare.

You're a performer. You thrive on feelings and drama and emotion. And Quinn Fabray, with her amazing breath-stealing words, has just given you a lifetime's worth in one breath.

It's too much. It's too much to feel at one time. You both need a moment.

You gently extricate yourself, and Quinn grips harder, bent on keeping you with her in bed. You turn and press a kiss to her temple.

A fleeting connection between _temple_ and _worship_ flickers in your brain, and you wonder how to describe the correlation, what you feel. You're convinced that if you could peel back your chest and show your heart to Quinn, she'd be able to express it perfectly.

Her words are magic.

"I'll be right back," you promise and force yourself away from her. You don't want to, but you think she might need a breather. You _know_ you do. Not to mention, you feel like there's moss growing on your teeth, and you're desperate to kiss her again with a fresh mouth. You retrieve your t-shirt from the floor, drape it over her stomach, smile down at her.

She's laying on her back now, her hair messy and wild; you love that she's kept it short from nationals last year. It looks _very_ sexy splayed across your pillow. She has your quilt pulled up under her arms, covering her, fingers playing nervously with your t-shirt.

She's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen.

You lean down. "Hey," you whisper. She won't look at you. "Hey," you try again, and her eyes flutter to yours. Her cheeks are tinged pink. You're inches from kissing her. "Quinn, no one, and I mean _no one _has ever made me feel half as special as you just did. Your words are magic." You press a soft kiss to her mouth. "I'll be right back, okay?'

You don't move until she finally nods, and you're certain she believes you.

Then, you pull the bathroom door gently behind you and brush your teeth, smooth your hair. You take your time. You _stall_.

You know it's not much, but you hope it's enough. Quinn is letting you in, slowly letting you see who she really is for the first time, and you're scared – you're _terrified _– but this is bigger than you. You need to see her, to know her.

You're reminded that nothing seemed real until she kissed you.

It split you wide open; it changed you, and now you want everything.

When you sneak out of the bathroom, she's laying on her side, watching you through half-closed eyes. Your t-shirt is still draped across her abdomen, but the quilt is pulled high enough around to cover her body. You thought for sure you'd given her enough time to pull the shirt on, cover herself up for the daytime.

You must look confused because she offers you a hesitant smile.

"Do you need me to go or can you...?" She motions to the bed, and you take the hint and circle the bed, slide in behind her. You press against her everywhere you can. You'd wake up to her every morning if she'd let you.

"Of course I don't want you to go," you say. "I want you to stay forever."

Now that your teeth are clean and you're settled back against her, you let yourself look at her. She left the t-shirt off for a reason, you think, so you admire her back, her shoulders. She's sexy in a tank top. There's so much _skin._

You'll die if you don't touch her.

You reach up gingerly and smooth your palm over her shoulder blade, and she hums approval. Her skin is so smooth. And cool. She's swaddled up in your bed, yet her skin is marvelously cool to the touch. You follow the curve of her shoulder up, up and thread it under blonde hair, caressing up the back of her neck.

You can't remember ever being so enamored with another person's back before. You love the way her skin feels beneath your hands.

They're running all over her now, fingers working under edges of the tank top to explore more skin. When you trail your nails lightly down the outside of her arm, goose bumps erupt in your wake, and you can't help it – you surge forward and press a hot kiss to her shoulder.

"Mmmm, Rachel," she moans softly. The sound fills you with need and you bury your face in her neck and breathe in.

"Quinn, you smell amazing," you whisper and kiss her there.

"Feels good," she mumbles, and you smile into her neck. Before you can think, you hook your arm around her waist and pull her roughly against you, rubbing your nose into the back of her head.

All you know is, you're instantly on fire and you need more.

When she pushes back into you, she feels so good that you groan against her, and now your hand is rubbing her stomach and pulling her closer. Her hips are moving and when you realize that she's rubbing her ass into you on purpose, you nearly come against her.

Something about this seems way too fast. You're screaming at yourself to stop but then Quinn whispers, "Don't stop, Rach. Feels so good," and you're completely lost.

You're scared of what you're about to do, but you _need_ to feel her. You've wanted to touch her stomach since last night, when she caressed you there for a half an hour. It made you feel so good, and you want that feeling back. You want for her to feel that good. This is step you haven't taken yet, fingers on skin _here,_ so you slow your movements and hover your fingers at the hem of her shirt, toying with the material so she knows what to expect.

You hesitate – maybe you aren't ready for this step – but she runs her hand over yours and pushes up under her top, showing you how to stroke her, showing you what she likes. Then, you're moving up slowly on your own, and she doesn't stop you when you finally slide your palm across her flat stomach to her sternum. You stop; she's holding her breath. You can feel the weight of her breasts on either side of your fingers and you know you're so _close_ that it makes your mouth literally water.

It's such an intimate gesture that you can't avoid the groan that bubbles up your throat. You're licking your lips in her ear and wonder if she can hear it, how dry your mouth is against her. You kiss her neck softly, try as hard as you can to avoid sucking because you saw last night how it makes her lose control.

And, right now, _one_ of you needs to have some control.

She's breathing heavily now and you don't think she would stop you, but you don't want to take too much from her. Not yet.

You slide your hand back down and she releases the breath she was holding, a slow leak.

When you get to her belly button, at first you ghost over it, but on the next pass, you can't help it; you dip in and swirl your fingers around once. You never really thought about it; you were only going with the moment, but when Quinn bucks her hips and makes a strangled sound in her throat, you freeze.

That's a new sound.

She's still not stopping you, so you press in once more and swirl your fingers again. Her hand flies to yours and presses down. At first you think she's egging you on, pressing you harder into her, and you feel a gush of wetness between your legs.

You realize, this is what _need_ feels like.

You _need_ her. You need Quinn Fabray.

"Oh my _god_, Rachel," Quinn moans. "That feels... ugh... fuck... you have to stop." She pulls your hand away, and you nose further into her neck.

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "You just feel so good."

A laugh bubbles up her throat, and she says shakily, "You don't have to be sorry for _that._ It feels amazing. But it's, maybe, a little too... intimate for us right now? I mean, I could... I could have..." She coughs, selects a different choice of words. "You might as well have your hand down my panties."

Her words shake your whole body, and you clutch tighter at her and breathe, "Quinn." You're holding on because her words have wrecked you and it's all you can do.

She laughs again. "Sorry, sweetheart. I guess we're really teasing each other up this morning." She brings your hand up to her mouth, kisses your knuckles. She really is the most charming person you've ever met.

Your heart is slamming against your chest, and you try to control your breathing. You hold her. You hold her for so long that you're afraid she's fallen asleep. It feels amazing to be holding Quinn Fabray in your arms, in your bed.

In your heart.

"Rachel, you're so _hot_," she murmurs, and you giggle into her neck. Then, she laughs. "No, I mean, your _body_ is hot." Another giggle. She elbows you gently in the stomach. "I mean, you're giving off heat. Temperature-wise. You're hot."

You snuggle tighter into her. "I've always been hot blooded."

It's instant, she's humming, and you push up enough to look at her face. "Really?" you say. "Foreigner?"

Quinn Fabray does _not_ strike you as the Foreigner type.

She shrugs. "Finn," she says, and it's the only explanation you need.

"Please don't say that name in my bed ever again," you say, and she laughs.

"Deal."

Your fingers bury themselves in her hair and you murmur, "Sing to me?"

She rolls to her back to look into your eyes; you make room for her but keep your bodies pressed tightly together. "You want me to sing you Foreigner in bed?" she asks seriously.

You trace a finger along her collarbone, and she immediately sucks in a breath like she's been burned. God, her eyes are smoldering. You're not surprised; you learned last night how much she likes that. Hot blooded, indeed.

"Sing me anything you want to. I don't care what song." You really don't. You just want to hear her voice. She can make it sound so, well, _smoky_, and you've never admitted it to yourself before, but when she sings in glee club, you feel butterflies.

"It's not the song choice," she says. "I just can't believe that Rachel Berry is offering a solo to someone _else_. Is the apocalypse happening?"

The look on her face is ... _god, _it's amazing. It's fun and light, and she's _flirting_, openly flirting with you. She looks happy and like the weight of the world is no longer driving her down. You wonder what lifted it from her.

She's never looked more breathtaking.

You can't let her see it though; you're playing along. You roll your eyes like it's the most obnoxious thing you've ever heard, even though you feel like your heart is shooting off fireworks.

"Sing," you command.

She makes a big production out of thinking about it.

She's so damn cute.

This playful side of her, it's... God, how did you get so _lucky_?

When she starts to sing softly, you feel your eyes go wide. She sees your expression, increases her volume. She's singing, "no I never felt this way before; yes, I swear," and wiggling her eyebrows at you.

The nerve!

"You're singing me the song you sang with _Sam_? In my own bed?"

It's unbelievable! It's preposterous!

"Quinn Fabray, if you're going to keep bringing up _boys_, you can just get out of my—"

"Oh, calm down," she says, twirling your hair in her fingers. "You'll blow a gasket."

"I'm not offended by the song. I'm shocked that Quinn Fabray actually has a sense of humor."

There! The rib-shaking laugh! You see it! You're looking in her eyes! God, she looks amazing. Her whole face is lit up and she's just... gorgeous.

The laughter fades slowly, dissolves into a beaming grin, just for you. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You goof," she says.

And then she begins to sing, softly.

"_She's got a way about her."_ Now your eyes really do go wide. _"I don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her."_ Oh! She sounds gorgeous. Her eyes are locked onto yours and she's not looking away. You can feel yourself melting as she sings up to you from your own pillow.

"_She's got a smile that heals me. I don't know what it is, but I have to laugh when she reveals me._ _She's got a way of talking." _She flashes a wide smile at the line and you roll your eyes.

"_I don't know what it is, but it lifts me up when we are walking anywhere." _She looks so sincere, so helpless below you. It's the sweetest she's ever looked, and you want to always remember this moment, just as it is.

"_She comes to me when I'm feeling down, inspires me without a sound, she touches me and I get turned around." _She takes a breath, sits up and pushes a soft kiss against your nose. You can't help but close your eyes against the tears you feel there. Maybe you can hold them in. You doubt it.

"_She's got a way of showing how I make her feel, and I find the strength to keep on going." _She traces your cheek, calls to you silently and you open your eyes to find her. Quinn Fabray is singing to you. The sweetest song with most beautiful look on her face. She's tender and gentle and you're losing yourself rapidly beneath her touch, her voice.

"_She's got a light around her, and everywhere she goes a million dreams of love surround her," _she smiles again, that brilliant life-giving smile and breathes one last word, "_everywhere."_

You can't help it; you bury your face in her neck, clutch at her. Your eyes are as full as your heart and you just want her to hold you forever.

"Quinn, that was beautiful." God, you wish you could stop crying. The look on her face... _No one_ has ever looked at you like that, not even Finn. It looked like... pure adoration.

"Yeah?" The confidence she poured into you when she was singing has been replaced with something softer. She needs validation. God, she's such a romantic! How did nobody ever notice what a romantic she is?

"Yeah," you breath, and you marvel once again that it's physically possible for you to feel this happy.

She's nuzzling your hair. "I'm glad," she says and pulls you tighter.

You draw your fingers across her skin. A thought occurs to you and you let it slowly out of your mouth. "You're always so stand-offish in school. I had no idea you were this... tactile." You were going to say romantic, but for some reason it doesn't feel like this is the moment.

She falters. "It's... okay, right? I just want to touch you all the time."

You kiss her neck. "It's _very _okay. I _love_ it that you're this tactile."

She moans lightly and you swipe your tongue across her skin.

"God, Rachel, you're so good at that." She rolls to you, nose to nose, thigh to thigh. So far, this is your favorite way to be with Quinn. Neither one is in charge; you're both holding each other. Equals.

It's deliciously intimate.

"So, I hate to bring this up, but what time is it?" Quinn says.

You lean up, peer over her shoulder, and you can't help it (you swear you can't), you look down and forget instantly how to breathe. Quinn's white tank top is askew from her turning in your arms and you can see straight down it. Her nipples are incredibly stiff and you're flooded with desire for the second time this morning. It only lasts a second, and you know how self-conscious she is, so you drag your eyes back to the clock on the nightstand before collapsing beside her again and snuggling close. You pull the blanket up around you both.

"It's after ten," you say through a yawn, hoping it masks the blood coursing through your veins and straight down between your legs. "Why? Have somewhere you've got to be? Some kind of hot date?"

She's developed a pattern of stroking your hair, tracing your jaw, stroking your hair. The smile on her face is amazing. If fills you up and erupts on your own mouth, reflecting back to her.

"Yes," she says. "A _very_ hot date."

You feel your smile fall. You're a good actress and could keep it in place if you wanted to, but you don't. You want Quinn to know that the idea of her going on a date with someone else later bothers you. You spent all night kissing!

She leans forward, rubs your nose with hers. Slides her cheek along yours and breaths heavily in your ear. "A very, _very_ hot date."

Is it completely un-leading lady of you to gulp audibly?

"With, with who?" you squeak.

She pulls back and is looking at your through the longest eyelashes on the planet. She chews her lip.

"Well, I haven't asked her yet."

Oh. _Oh!_

She sees the recognition on your face and grins.

"Gosh, for a girl who's so smart, you sure are slow sometimes."

"Hey!" You try to sound upset, annoyed, anything, but really you're just so excited that she's lucky you don't tackle her and squeal like a little kid. "Quinn Fabray, you are ruining asking me out for the first time."

She sobers instantly, and you feel the smile die on your lips. Why did she turn so serious all of the sudden? Did you push the joke too far?

Her eyes flutter, lashes dip down. She's looking up at you again, and you forget how to breathe, how to _think. _You didn't push anything too far. She _wants_ you.

"So," she says, (hands through your hair, finger down your jaw, hands through your hair – your heart is pounding), "I was thinking. Maybe you'd like to..." - she chews her lower lip and you find it somewhere between adorable and sexy as hell - "go out with me tonight?"

You can't contain it any longer. Quinn Fabray kissed you all night in your bed and then asked you out on a date. You squeal and pounce on her, laughing, both of you, laughing, and she holds you until you stop squirming and look down into her face, breathless and happy. And the look she throws back up at you somehow stops your heart and makes it beat wildly at the same time.

"So that's a yes?" she asks.

"No, it's a no," you say flatly. "You should see what my yesses are like."

She laughs again, throws her arm over her eyes in mock exasperation, and you have this brief, fleeting glimpse of your future; the two of you together, playing and laughing and living life side by side. You gasp lightly. How could you never have seen it before?

Quinn is perfect for you. You're perfect for Quinn.

How on earth did it take her this long to follow you home and fall into your bed? It should have happened years ago.

You realize that she's fallen still and is watching intently, those eyes so in tune to whatever's inside of you. You feel like she knows your heart before you do. She can see it coming at her, and she's unflinching.

"What?" she asks softly.

"What's Monday going to be like for us?" You drop your eyes. "At school."

Suddenly, she's gathering you to her, hugging you to her chest. "Oh, Rach," she breathes. "Please don't worry, sweetheart. It's going to be fine."

She's stroking your hair, and you don't want to worry. You want to fly with her, hold her hand and soar into the sky. Straight on 'til morning.

But you've only had one day with _this_ Quinn. She might only last one day. She might not be here by Monday. And you're Rachel Berry; you have to know.

You'll take her for as long as she'll stay with you, but you have to know. For your heart. You have to.

She pushes herself up, takes your gaze with her eyes and holds it like it's your body she's pressing to her own.

"Hey." She's so soft. Everything about her is soft. You want this Quinn to stay forever. She tucks your hair behind your ear, cups your cheek. You lean into her. "Don't worry about Monday, okay? Let me worry about Monday. I need you to worry about tonight."

She has your attention now. "What about tonight?"

She's shy again. Dual Quinn, swinging like a pendulum. Fierce one moment and on tiptoe the next. "When we go out," she says softly, picking at the blanket, "I've never been on a date with a girl before. I've pushed... this part of me down for so long, Rachel, I let it turn me into something I never wanted to be. And I won't be able to just shrug it off overnight." What is she saying? Your tongue is thick in your mouth; you can't find the words, so you listen. You only have to listen. Listen, and let her words run over you. "We're, you and me, we can be... a team, right?" A team. Part of Quinn's team. The two of you, together. Partners. You can do that. You nod, and her smile is powered by relief. "We're a team, so tonight, I need you to be the strong one." She looks like she might crumble at any moment. "You said I didn't have to always be the strong one. I need you to be that tonight. Okay?"

Quinn Fabray, not even aware that the blanket she's been using as a shield all morning has fallen down to her lap, leaving her skin exposed. Quinn Fabray, senior cheer captain and prettiest girl in school. Quinn Fabray is sitting in your bed, earnestly asking for you, Rachel Berry, to be strong for her.

"Quinn, I don't—"

"I'll be nervous, Rach. Nervous someone will see us. Afraid of looks and whispers. I might even be... too fearful to hold your hand. I definitely won't be able to kiss you. I need to you to walk me through it. To be strong. If we're going to do this, I'll need you by my side or I won't make it."

Your Shakespeare with her words. Her words are magic, and magic is sometimes black. She can wrap you in darkness as well as light. Still, you're grateful for them. You can feel her all the way down, through and through, because of her words.

You find your voice somewhere in the thickness and say, "Of course I'll be there tonight, Quinn. I may not be able to fend off the looks and whispers, but I _will_ hold your hand."

She smiles at that, and you're relieved again. She kisses your cheek, leaves her lips pressed to your skin until your breath flutters and she catches it in her mouth, kisses your lips. "And on Monday at school," she says, "I'll do the exact same thing for you." She kisses you again, and you believe her. You believe her because her words wreck you and save you. They unbutton you all the way down and swaddle you up again. You believe her because you can't _not_ believe her. "We're a team," she says again, and you pull her in.

"Okay," you say, and she beams at you. Honest to god, Quinn Fabray light up the whole freaking world smile. It's the best thing you've ever seen in your life.

She kisses you again and pulls back.

"Where are you going?" You know it sounds pouty, but you don't care. She's leaving and she deserves to know that you're not happy about it. "I thought we were going to lay in bed all day and—"

She grins again. "And what, Rach? Make out? After kissing all night? My lips are _raw_, sweetheart. We've been kissing for hours. Besides," she darts a quick peck to your nose, "I need to go home so you can wait in anticipation all day before I pick you up tonight. It's all part of the first date experience."

You roll your eyes, but inwardly your heart is bursting. She knows you so well, it's scary.

"And stop rolling your eyes," she laughs. "You look like Santana."

"I do _not_ look like Santana," you mutter, but she only laughs harder and pulls herself away from you.

"Believe me, I don't want to leave you but tonight will more than make up for it. I promise."

"Will you stay tonight again?"

"Yes," she answers without hesitation, "But after tonight, not for awhile."

"What? Why not?" This is the worst news ever.

She grabs her clothes and hauls them into the bathroom, peeks her head around the corner and smiles at you. And you melt all over again.

"Because, Rach," she says in a small voice. She can barely meet your eyes, but she manages. She's so cute when she's shy. "I want a chance to romance you." You can't help it; you suck in a breath. That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to you; it was certainly unexpected. This is the girl who said an hour ago that you might as well have your hand down her panties with no shame. God, you're shivering just thinking about _that_. She sees your reaction and it lends her courage. "I want to romance you and it'll be too hard for me to act honorably if I'm in your bed every night."

She _does_ drop her gaze at that and you don't mind at all. You're smiling your biggest Broadway smile at her, feel like your cheeks will burst at any moment, but you're so happy that you can't stop. She blushes at you, says, "I just want to wait with you. You're special," and ducks into the bathroom before you can respond.

When she comes out of the bathroom in her clothes from last night, you're still in a daze. She wraps you in her arms and murmurs, "Last night was the best night of my life, Rachel Berry. I can't wait to take you out tonight and kiss you again for hours after."

When her lips touch your nose again, you sigh.

"I'll pick you up at seven," she says. "Dress warm, okay? Jeans and a hoodie?"

"Are we really going someplace cold or do you just want to see me in a hoodie?" you mumble, and she laughs again. It's the warmest sound you've ever heard in your life.

"I _might_ want to see you in a hoodie," she admits.

Then, she kisses you one last time and then lets herself out of your bedroom. You think vaguely that you should show her out, but everything's so dreamy that you can't do anything except collapse backwards on your bed and grin up at the ceiling.

Tonight, you're dating Quinn Fabray.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Alright, kids. Here's chapter four. It's long. Over 10k words and eighteen pages, single spaced. I have cut it apart and patched it back together five times. If there are glaring errors, apologies all around - ten thousand words is a lot to sift through in one go. As always, thank you to everyone who has read and commented and favorited. I'm just shy of 700 favorites, and it blows my mind. You guys are the best! Still love to hear what you think._

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><p>Rachel's dad opens the door for me, and I enter the Berry house for the third time in my life. The first time was last year when Rachel threw a party for the glee club. I was still battling my feelings for her, fresh off Sam dropping me for Santana. The second time was last night after Cheerios practice. After kissing her in the lounge; after wondering for hours if I'd overstepped my boundaries, dreading the look on her face when she saw me again. Dreading the words, "You're a really sweet girl, Quinn, <em>but<em>..."

Both times I was on enemy ground, expecting an ambush at any moment. Both times, I was defeated before I even got here. But _this_ time... This time, Rachel is expecting me. She _wants_ me here; she's waiting for me as much as I'm waiting for her. This time, I _belong_ here. So, I finally let myself relax and take it in.

The foyer is lined with photographs, nearly floor to ceiling. All sizes, mostly black and whites; a few in color. All of them candids. All of them startlingly clear, intimate.

"Who's the photographer?" I ask Rachel's dad as he closes the door behind me.

His sheepish smile gives him away, but he shrugs and says "guilty" anyway.

"They're beautiful." I feel like I'm telling him something he already knows; like, if I'd said, 'the sun is very hot.'

"Rachel will be right down, Quinn," he tells me. He has the kindest eyes. Brown and soft, like Rachel's. "She hasn't stopped talking about you all afternoon. We already love you." And then, "I won't even tell her that you stood on the front porch for ten minutes before you rang the doorbell."

I suddenly feel like I've just eaten a box of chalk. Fantastic. I try to swallow it down and defend myself. "I rang the doorbell." It's a feeble attempt, at best.

He's halfway down the hallway, laughing, before he throws the word "barely" over his shoulder.

I feel like I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. He's not like most adults in my world. I actually kind of like him.

He disappears into the kitchen, and I find myself alone, surrounded by these black and white memories. _Rachel's_ memories, frozen in time.

To distract myself from the nervousness fluttering around inside my stomach, I look at them. There are so many. A Rachel Berry timeline, framed and quilted together on the wall.

I start at the beginning.

The tiniest Rachel Berry. Weeks old, perhaps. She's not much bigger than Beth was when I held her those first few minutes of her life. Eyes closed, sleeping. The photograph is so vivid, I can almost see her tiny chest rising and falling with breath.

Several more baby pictures, all of them as riveting as the first. Then, a rosy-cheeked toddler Rachel in a blue hooded windbreaker (one of the only color photographs on the wall), scooping up an armful of brown leaves. She's giggling, her tiny head thrown back, eyes squinted against the sun, leaves tumbling from her arms.

First day of school. Little white baby teeth in a perfect row except for one gaping hole on the top right. _My Fair Lady_ lunchbox dangling at her side. Sweater vest, plaid skirt, Mary Janes. So excited to be going to school for the first time!

The most adorable little girl I've ever seen (what is she here, seven? eight?) holding up a giant bloated toad, her hair a gleaming black in the sunlight. _Rachel._ This one, like the others, is unbelievably clear; I feel like seven-year-old Rachel is standing right in front of me. I can almost feel the heat shining down on her. It makes me shiver in the Berry's shadowy foyer.

A few years older, blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Another, sitting on the lap of the other Mr. Berry. Each photograph startlingly clear. All of them happy. _This_ is Rachel's world? No wonder she's so unsinkable at school. It's such a far cry from the dynamic in my own family; I'm fascinated.

There are others, too. Several of the two Mr. Berrys (Berries?) together. I wonder if Rachel took these. She's almost as good as her dad.

I'm at the high school section of the wall, nearly at the end. Here's Rachel in her football uniform, shoulder pads encasing her, black lines beneath her eyes. I remember this! The way she looked, the way I wanted to pull her under the bleachers and kiss her senseless. Mostly, the way I worried myself sick that she would get hurt.

The last photograph stops my breath in my throat. It's the largest one on the wall. It's Rachel. High school Rachel. _My _Rachel.

She's alone, on stage. Performing. Microphone curled into her hand, lights sparkled into stars behind her shining down, lighting her up. She looks... unstoppable.

My chest tightens, staring at it. There's not enough air.

There's a soft thudding on the stairs and I look up to see _that_ Rachel dropping down them lightly, almost skipping, her face lit up in the most breathtaking smile.

"Rachel," I say, and all the air I was fighting for escapes my lungs in a rush. I feel like I might capsize.

Even now, with her hair braided loosely in pigtails and wearing a charcoal hoodie, chucks, and the tightest jeans I've ever seen, she's unstoppable. She's fantastic.

She's perfect.

She jumps off the bottom step, and her arms are immediately around my waist. I don't even remember going to her, but here I am, holding her against me. I feel like my face may spontaneously combust and burst into flames, I'm smiling so big.

"You look adorable," I murmur.

"_Somebody_ told me to wear a hoodie," she says. Between her giggling and her pigtails, I have this urge to pick her up and twirl her around in my arms.

Instead, I tug a pigtail lightly and kiss the tip of her nose. I tell her, "You'll be happy you listened. Trust me."

"I'm already happy," she says, and then her hand is on my cheek, guiding our lips together in the softest, sweetest kiss. Her lips are full of heat, like the rest of her, and they fit with mine perfectly. She caresses my cheek with her thumb, holding me steadily against her. I love the way her mouth tastes.

My heart is actually fluttering in my chest.

It feels so good, but somehow it also _aches._

"It's been too long since you've kissed me," she murmurs against my mouth, and I'm inclined to agree. Can we just skip the date and stand here in the foyer kissing all night?

I bury my nose in her neck and breathe deeply. There's nothing on earth that smells like Rachel. She doesn't wear perfume; it's all her. It's kind of earthy and peppery and, well, _Rachel._ I nuzzle her, and the way she tips her head to the side makes me think she might want me to kiss her there.

The thought is intoxicating, her wanting my mouth on her body.

"Girls, I'd like to get—" Rachel's dad says, coming back down the hallway. I don't hear what he'd like to get because I spring back from Rachel like she's doused me with scalding water.

"Quinn!" She looks slightly shocked and more than a little hurt.

"Your _father_," I hiss, and she rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Oh, good grief, Quinn," she says, catching me by the hand and pulling me back into her arms. "No one _cares._"

I look to Mr. Berry for confirmation, but he only shrugs and shakes his head.

Rachel kisses me to prove her point and when I break away nervously, Mr. Berry is smiling warmly at us.

He's fine; Rachel's fine; _I'm _fine. I feel myself relax slowly back into Rachel until I notice that in one hand, Mr. Berry is clutching a bulky camera with a heavy-looking lens. "How about a photo?" he says, and I feel myself stiffen all the way down. Getting my picture taken is almost like a punishment for me. I don't look good in pictures; every flaw frozen for eternity.

The lost girl inside of me is pounding her fists, trying to get my attention. She's panicking.

"Do we have to do this?" I mumble. I don't want to look at Rachel right now. I don't want to look at her dad. My cheeks are burning. We don't need a picture. We especially don't need a picture of _me._

"Come on, Quinn. One photo," Rachel says. The warmth in her voice captures me; I'm unable to escape and I find myself falling easily into her eyes once again.

"A first date memento," Mr. Berry adds helpfully. "Besides, don't steal this away from me, Quinn. I'm a bit of a shutterbug. It's what I do."

"For a living?" I can't help the question. He's certainly talented enough to be a professional.

He laughs at that. "Goodness, no. I'm a computer guy. It's just a hobby. So? How about it?" Mr. Berry lifts his camera slightly like he's temping me with it.

Rachel squeezes my hand. "We'll add it to the wall," she whispers into my ear, and I'm instantly overcome with the thought of my face on Rachel Berry's family wall.

On her timeline.

Could I fit there? Could Quinn Fabray fit into Rachel Berry's perfect world? _One picture can't hurt_, I tell my lost girl, and she sulks. I know I can't win her trust, but maybe Rachel can.

"If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way," I say and pull Rachel to stand in front of me. I press against her back, rest my chin on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her middle.

Nervousness flares in my chest over holding Rachel like this in front of her father, but the necessity to hide myself behind her trumps my shyness.

With Rachel in my arms, with her shielding me like this, I feel instantly at peace.

She rests a hand on my forearm, toying with my sweatshirt, and laces her other hand in mine over her stomach. She leans back into me, letting me support her completely. I hide my grin on her shoulder. Even when she's shielding me from an irrational fear, there's a certain give and take.

Picture or not, I haven't felt this happy in a long, long time.

"One, two, three," Mr. Berry says, and the camera clicks several times in a row. "Another?" he asks, and I groan.

Rachel only giggles, cranes her neck back, presses her lips lightly to my cheek. My eyes flutter closed and I can hear Mr. Berry's camera _shuckshuckshucking_.

Now Rachel's spun completely in my arms, pushing herself up on her tiptoes with her lips touching lightly to the tip of my nose. I'm focused completely on her, and at some point, I forget about Mr. Berry and his camera.

"Well, this feels familiar," I murmur. I adore the look on her face. She's so innocent and sweet. I suddenly feel like a suitor from the olden days. _Miss Berry, I'd be pleased if you'd allow me to sit in your parlor this evening. I'd be delighted to accompany you to the Sunday social this week, Miss Berry._

I indulge in my dream world, snuggling into Rachel and mentally wooing her, while Mr. Berry's camera snaps picture after picture.

Rachel is hamming it up now, throwing looks over her shoulder dramatically, arranging me in ridiculous poses like _she's_ the photographer, saying things like, "Quinn, can you do that pouty thing with your mouth? _Perfect._ The camera _looooooooooves _you."

I'm laughing, and when Mr. Berry finally lowers his camera, I feel good. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. It feels warm and happy and relaxed. It feels like _family_.

It hits me in the chest like someone socked me with a big, fluffy pillow.

I want this. I want this with Rachel.

I catch her hand, swing it between us. This is the moment that I know without a doubt that we're good together. Our date has already been perfect, and we're still standing in the foyer.

"Ready to go, Rach?" I ask. I know she is. She's beside herself with excitement.

"Where are we going?" I'm surprised it took her this long to ask. I think she knows that I'm not going to answer her, and I love it that she looks appropriately devastated when I don't.

She hugs her dad goodbye and I hear him whisper something about turning into a pumpkin after midnight. She giggles into him, kisses his cheek.

"Midnight, Quinn," he tells me in a louder voice. I get the feeling that he's trying to be tough.

It's the olden days again, and I'm asking Rachel's father for her hand for the evening. Out loud, I say, "I'd be delighted, Mr. Berry." It's way too formal considering the impromptu photo shoot we just had, but it fits with my courtship fantasy perfectly. Rachel has an eyebrow crooked, but she says nothing. It crosses my mind that Rachel Berry is not the most dramatic person I know.

I blush and pull her outside to my car.

"What was all that about?" she asks me in her driveway. The sun is setting, and her face is full of shadows but her eyes are clear.

I was going to open the door for her, but her question throws me off. I pull her, spin her so her back is against the door of the car, press my hips against hers. Her eyes widen impossibly, her throat muscles ripple as she swallows.

"Rachel." I love the way her name sounds on my voice. I think she does too, if the way she's looking at me is any indication. I map her ear with the tip of my nose. Her breath is puffing steadily on my neck, her hands fisted in my sweatshirt. "Are you cold, sweetheart?"

"A little."

I press a kiss to that soft patch of skin just behind her ear, feel her hands grip my shirt tighter. "Wait here, Rach." I fish my Cheerios jacket out of the backseat and wrap her in it.

It looks way better on her than it ever did on me.

With Rachel in my jacket, we're way past the olden days. Now I'm not sitting in Rachel's parlor but asking her to go to the sock hop with me, wear my pin, be my steady girl. I actually love the way that sounds. An image washes up on the shore of my brain; the two of us in poodle skirts and saddle shoes, perched on stools at a soda fountain, sipping the same milkshake from two straws.

"Won't _you_ be cold?" she asks.

"Of course not. I have you," I tell her.

She traces her fingers on my jacket almost reverently. I'd give anything to be able to translate that look on her face. She brings the collar to her nose, inhales. Her eyes flutter closed and she murmurs, "It smells like you."

I falter. "Is that... okay?" I ask, and she shoots me a look that's so pointed, I don't have to wonder what it means.

I curl my fists into the front of my own Cheerios jacket – I can feel her heart pounding beneath my hand – I pull her into me and press a soft kiss to her lips. If only Mr. Berry would come out here with his camera and take a picture of _this_, of Rachel in my jacket, of me holding her prisoner by the lapel, of us kissing against the side of my car in her driveway. I don't know who breaks the kiss, but the only thing I can do for a full minute is press my forehead to hers and let her bring me back to earth.

Then, I pull open the door for her, and she situates herself, looks up at me from inside. "Where are we going?"

She's kind of ridiculous. I love it.

I'm beside her, backing down the driveway before I say, "You'll see, Rach. Have a little patience."

She rolls her eyes. "If you honestly think that I'm going to be patient about something like this, you don't know me very well. Tell me where we're going."

I outright laugh this time and squeeze her hand over the console. "If you honestly think that I'm going to just break down and tell you that, you don't know _me_ very well," I say, and that's the end of it because I slide a cd I marked 'Songs for Rach' with a black sharpie into the stereo, and piano chords fill the car. With _this_ song playing, Rachel doesn't stand a chance.

Rachel turns those big brown eyes on me, and I smile the smile that's only for her. Those eyes are already shining, and when Rachel breathes, "Quinn," I know this is right.

The piano intro lulls, is joined by a strong, clear voice. _She's got a way about her... don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her._

Rachel's staring at me, speechless, and I'm trying my best to keep my eyes on the road. All I want to do is fall into those eyes and swim away.

I sing softly to her in the car, my duet with Billy Joel, and she holds my hand, traces my knuckles with trembling fingers. I know what I've done. This is my song for Rachel, forever. I'll never hear it again without those brown eyes swallowing me whole.

For the next twenty minutes, I drive and Rachel grips my hand, pours herself into the music that reminds me of her. Love song after love song that I handpicked to serenade Rachel all the way to our first date. Finally, one of the songs I couldn't _wait_ for her to hear starts playing, and it takes her a minute before she bursts into laughter.

"God, Quinn, _really_?" she laughs when Foreigner's _Hot Blooded_ starts playing. "You are really something else."

I laugh, too. "Couldn't help it."

I do my best to waggle my eyebrows and leer at her at the lyric _I'll show you loving like you never knew. _Her laughter's bubbling over, but there's a hint of blush in her cheeks, and it makes my heart race just a little bit faster.

It's the song that's playing when we round the last grove of trees and the Ferris wheel comes into view.

"A carnival?" Her excitement is obvious. God, the way she sees the world. She doesn't do anything halfheartedly. She experiences – she feels – _everything_. She lays so much of herself in the open. I love that about her.

"Oh, is there a carnival in town?" I sound surprised, even to myself. I'm the picture of angelic innocence. I know absolutely nothing about anything. I lean over and sing in her ear, side-eyeing the road, _"Maybe you can stay all night. Shall I leave you my key?"_ She flushes again, and I smirk. The picture of angelic innocence.

"Quinn, you _know_ there is. There's a Ferris wheel _right there."_ She bites her lip; I almost crack.

"Huh," I say, and she huffs. Adorable.

We pull in the parking lot, and I drive to the far end. I want to walk with her just us, hold her hand, maybe put my arm around her. Keep her warm in the cold night air.

I was going to open her door for her – this is _my_ date, after all; she can have the next one – but she's far too excited. She throws her door open before the car even stops moving, and I throw it into park as she flies around to pull me out of the driver's seat and into a hug.

I get the feeling that she's far too excited to speak, but it's fine; we're very good at hugging by now, and I can sense how happy she is. I hold her for a few moments, feeling her skin against my cheek, matching her breath for breath.

Then, she snuggles into me and I drape my arm around her shoulder, walking us slowly toward the carnival.

As we weave between the cars, Rachel kicks a loose stone, scuffing her chucks in the dirt. She bends her arm at the elbow, links her hand with the one I have dangling over her shoulder. It's cold enough that I can see the ghosts of our breath swirling around one another against the night sky.

Even in the October evening, she still radiates heat; she's like a furnace. She moves her thumb over the back of my hand, leaves tingles trailing behind it.

"So, you got to choose the _last_ fantasy," I begin, and I can feel my face flush. I'm wrapped around Rachel Berry, bringing up the subject of fantasies. I'm still wet from her last one. I need to focus if I'm going to get through this.

I stall out, embarrassed. Asking for things isn't something I'm very good at. Or comfortable with. Luckily, Rachel saves me. "Tell me," she says in a quiet voice, and when I look at her, she sets me free.

"I've always wanted to be kissed at the top of a Ferris wheel."

There. I said it; it's out there. She can do with it what she wants.

She doesn't say anything for a while, and when I finally seek her face for validation, her eyes are full of tenderness. "Your fantasy is to be kissed at the top of the Ferris wheel?" she asks, and I know I don't really need to answer. "That's... incredibly sweet."

"I can't imagine sharing that with anyone other than you, Rachel," I tell her, and I mean it. I want so many things with her; this is just one of them.

She snuggles into me and says, "I can't wait to give that to you, Quinn." I feel like I'm melting from the inside out.

Our walk across the parking lot goes too fast. We're at the ticket booth before I know it, and as I open my wallet and pull out a few bills, Rachel beams at the attendant and says, "We're on a date!"

He's completely apathetic, and when he mutters "good for you," I check to make sure he hasn't deflated Rachel's good mood. He hasn't. She's positively radiant.

I can feel my face burning and I mumble "thanks" to the attendant when he slides two tickets over the counter.

Once we're inside, Rachel casts me a nervous glance. "Was that too much? I didn't mean to embarrass you, Quinn. I'm just so excited that I want people we don't even know to know that I'm here with _you._"

I want to kiss her, to reassure her, but I'm still not sure how to behave around her in public. Every time I touch her, even in the most innocuous way, I get this tunnel vision and before I know it, she's the only thing in my world. I don't want to lose my sense of control in the middle of a thousand strangers. I also don't want them to judge me for it.

"Rach, you didn't do anything wrong. I asked you to help me through the public side of things tonight. You're perfect."

She chews her lip before she asks, "What will Monday be like when it's everyone we _know_?" She sounds so timid that my heart hurts a little bit.

"Don't worry about school, Rach. It's people we know, but it's also my element. Even if I'm nervous, which I _will_ be, definitely, you won't ever see it. Okay? Do you want to maybe play some games? I could, uh, want me to win you a stuffed animal or..." God. That sounded lame _before_ I said it out loud. Rachel only laughs and pulls me toward the shooting gallery.

"To break the ice," she says, when I follow her. "See anything you like?"

My eyes immediately drift to the glass counter in front. It's full of trinkets – key chains, tiny ceramic mugs, gaudy plastic necklaces. I don't do stuffed animals, so if there's something I'm taking home from a carnival, it'll be in a case like this.

I point at a ring lying on its side. It's silver and chintzy; the band is one of those separated bands that you can squeeze to adjust. The ring part is thin and flat, an imperfect rectangle made of the same silver as the band. It's a playing card.

The queen of hearts.

It's perfect.

Rachel's smile is incredible as she exchanges a dollar bill for a rifle.

She shoulders the gun, I'm riveted. Then, the attendant flips a switch, and the gallery roars to life.

Rachel doesn't move for a long moment. I realize that she's studying the pattern.

Then, she moves. And I completely forget how to breathe.

She's firing so fast, and targets are spinning and flashing in rapid succession. She's pivoting at the waist, her feet planted firmly in the dirt, as she cracks off shot after shot.

_Rachel Berry can shoot a gun?_

Every single one hits its mark, as far as I can see, and by the time the gallery grinds to a halt, she's breathless and her eyes are shining.

She glances at me, and I swallow thickly. She laughs, shakes her head, and returns the gun.

I can't move. I can see her pointing at the ring in the case, grinning like a fool at the attendant, shuffling back over to me. She offers me the ring shyly. She's _really_ good at that through-the-eyelash look.

"Wear my ring?" she says, and I feel wobbly. I honest to god need to find a place to sit down. Where's a soda fountain when you need one?

I hold up a shaking hand and she slides it onto my ring finger. This is _my_ date. I'm supposed to be the one winning her things, sliding rings onto her finger, offering silent promises and lingering caresses on her wrist.

She's still holding my hand when she kisses me on the cheek, and I can feel myself blush. You'd think that we hadn't held each other in bed all night; you'd think that Rachel hadn't sucked a purple bloom onto my neck just a few hours ago.

"Rachel, this is perfect," I whisper, because I don't know what else to say.

I spend the next few hours experiencing the carnival through Rachel's eyes. She's so expressive, so _in the moment_ sometimes that she's almost childlike. I can't take my eyes off her the entire night.

I want to keep her.

"Are you hungry, Rach?" I ask her. "Want to get some greasy, fattening carnival food?"

She half groans, half laughs as she laces her fingers with mine for the hundredth time tonight. I'm starting to feel like I'll never want anything else but Rachel's hand in mine. "The carnival me definitely does," she says, "but the vegan me would be sick for a week. Ride the tilt-a-whirl with me?"

As we wait in line, I can feel someone's eyes on me. I look left. There, by a galvanized steel tub filled with rubber ducks.

Santana.

She's leaning against a pole, pretending to watch Brittany fish a duck out of the water and check its belly for the winning number. But she's really watching me.

Arms folded across her chest. Cold. Skeptical.

Challenging me.

Santana has changed so much in the past year – softer, more unsure of herself. Brittany broke her last year and is slowly putting her back together. So, when I see her old persona staring back at me with hard eyes, I'm surprised.

I arch an eyebrow in response and hold her gaze steadily, snaking my hand under my Cheerios jacket, holding Rachel more tightly around the waist.

Challenge accepted, Santana.

But not now.

Because, right now, Rachel Berry and I are riding the tilt-a-whirl. Before Rachel pulls me into the car, I see Santana nod almost imperceptibly. We'll finish this later. Monday at school.

That will actually be just what I need to act as a catalyst for my new Rachel and Quinn campaign.

By the time we stumble off the ride, holding one another up, Rachel is breathless and glowing. There are a million stars in her eyes and she's looking at me like I'm the one who put them there.

I want to ask if she had fun on the ride, but something in her face makes me hold my breath until I feel dizzy. Then she's on her toes, pushing into me, arms around my neck. My hands are immediately under the jacket, molding naturally around her upper ribs. I can feel her breathing beneath my fingertips, feel the beginnings of the curve of her breasts with my thumb. It might be my favorite place to touch so far.

"Ferris wheel?" she breathes into my ear, and I shiver.

It amazes me. In the course of a few hours, Rachel has dissolved all of my fears of touching her in public. All I can see is her face. All I can feel is her hope for us.

It makes me want to believe.

"Rachel," I murmur and toy with a strand of her hair that's come loose.

"Ferris wheel," she reiterates, and then we're strolling hand in hand, making our way to the giant wheel illuminated high into the night sky.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you, Rach?" I ask as we're waiting in line. My arms are around her again and she shakes her head against my shoulder. She playing with my fingers, my cheek is resting against the top of her pigtailed head.

To anyone passing by, it's obvious we're together. And, because of Rachel, I'm okay with that now. Monday at school will be interesting, for sure. McKinley is my town; I've had no problem in the past going after what I want – the Cheerios, prom queen, Finn/Puck/Sam. The only difference now is that what I want is Rachel Berry.

And Monday, I'll throw every single ounce of Quinn Fabray behind it.

There's bound to be an adjustment period, but I'm still head Cheerio, after all. I'm on the honor roll, we'll take Nationals this year in glee club. I have a lot going for me, finally. And once people get over the initial shock of me being with another girl, they'll forget and move on. No matter what you do, people always forget and move on.

And even if they don't, we can weather a few months together and then leave Lima and never look back. Rachel's worth trading a few months of intolerance for a lifetime of happiness. It'd be best if I can get Santana on our side, but either way, the plan doesn't change. I just need to be strong for a few weeks. Protect Rachel, stand up for us, and we'll be good.

It's funny – I spent the first half of high school leaning against lockers, waiting for prince charming to blaze down the hallway on a white horse for me. I mean, _god._ I'm Quinn Fabray. I should have had guys lining up all over the place. I should have been desirable; the _catch_ of McKinley High.

Instead, I watched Finn first and then Puck choose Rachel over me. I stood idly by while Santana hooked Sam. Every guy I ever waited for was always waiting for someone else, and I just clung to the hope that someday someone might love me. I leaned harder against my locker, clutched my books a little tighter to my chest, begged the lost girl inside of me for forgiveness for letting her down.

And all the time I was waiting for my prince, someone else was waiting for _me._ _I_ should have been the one to charge down the hallway on a white horse. _I_ should have been the one lining up. For her.

She's the heroine of the story. She always will be.

And I want to be the one to sweep her off her feet. She deserves that. She deserves someone who will fight for the chance to win her heart.

I only hope it's enough to make up for all the things I'm not.

But looking into her eyes tonight, right now, it's easy for me to forget all the things I'm not. None of it matters when Rachel Berry looks me like _that._

Before I know it, we're snuggled into the Ferris wheel car and it's moving, forward and up, and the night sky is so clear. It's so clear and the stars are so bright, they _almost_ give Rachel's eyes a run for their money. Almost.

We're finally alone.

"So," I say and let my fingers find her hair.

"So." She's playing my game, playing coy.

"We're on the Ferris wheel," I inform her.

"We are."

"Rachel," I breathe. I want to taste her; I need to feel her mouth pressed to mine. It's all I've wanted all day.

I'll never get over the adoration in her face when she looks at me. She makes me forget myself, makes me feel gorgeous. I think the lost girl inside of me might even be starting to believe her.

She's playing this out. She's enjoying it, and I'm enjoying her.

"Are you ever going to kiss me?" I know I must sound desperate, but I don't care. I need her. Her fingertips are so soft on my face. She's so close, I can feel her breath.

"Quinn," she says, and I love the way my name sounds on her lips. "I'll kiss you." There's a catch. I can hear it in her voice.

"But?"

"I just want you to know – it's going to be _so_ good," she says, and I choke down a small squeak in the back of my throat. I send up a silent prayer that she didn't hear it. "It's going to be the kind of kiss that tears you apart inside before rebuilding you from the ground up. It's going to wreck you, Quinn." The things she's saying are unbelievable. I'm shaking against her, and it's not from the cold.

I close my eyes and try to keep myself under control. I need her, now. "I want you to tell me a story," she says, and it's so innocent in contrast with her sexy whispering that I laugh out loud.

"God, Rach, you say things that make me want to –" Her eyes are so big, so full of emotion. "A story, huh?"

She nods wildly, like a little kid, and I collect myself, thinking.

If Rachel Berry needs a story to kiss me, she'll get a story.

"Once upon a time," I begin and she settles into me, my arm around her shoulder, her head in my neck. We fit together perfectly, and it shocks me for the hundredth time in two days that I never realized how happy we could make each other. When her hand slides easily beneath my sweatshirt and I feel Rachel's thumb rub softly against my stomach, I hitch a breath. "There were two bunnies." She giggles against me, and I smile into her hair. This will be a story hand-tailored to Rachel Berry, no holds barred. I will kill her with adorableness. I _will_ get my kiss, if I have to talk about bunnies to do it. "And these two bunnies fit together perfectly," I say. "They were happy together." She sighs, and I know I'm close.

"One of them wore a daisy behind her ear and the other" (I glance down at the Converse sneakers that have been distracting me all day) "the other wore four red Converse high tops on her feet." She snorts into me. She's loving this. Her thumb moves slowly back and forth, kindling a fire deep within my belly. I fight for control of my breath.

"Daisy Bunny loved to climb the rock wall, make spaghetti, and" (I think of Brittany and her galvanized tub full of rubber ducks) "feed the ducks on the pond." Rachel's thumb is making love to the skin just below my belly button. It's making me lose my breath. I want her to kiss me so badly. I need it. I need _her_.

"Chuck Bunny" (Rachel guffaws at this and mutters 'Chuck Bunny' into my shoulder) "_Chuck Bunny_ liked to draw on the sidewalk with pastel colored chalk, fly her bright yellow kite by the riverbank on windy days, and eat ice cream from a cone while Daisy Bunny fed the ducks."

"Vegan ice cream," Rachel corrects, and I smile against her hair.

"Vegan ice cream," I agree, and she melts further into me. And then, I honestly can't help myself. I murmur, "They belonged together," and wait like a block of stone for Rachel's reaction. It's only when she tilts her head up and kisses my neck softly, murmuring "oh Quinn" into my skin there that I can breathe again. I'm on fire where her lips touched, and my stomach is twitching beneath her thumb. We're nearly to the very top of the Ferris wheel now, and I know I need to get on with the story.

It's nearly our moment. Rachel is about to fulfill one of _my_ fantasies.

"One day, Daisy Bunny and Chuck Bunny were laying side by side in the meadow, watching a fat yellow jacket fly from clover to clover. Daisy Bunny began humming along. She sang to Chuck Bunny, watching her fall asleep in the sunshine, nestled into her side. They slept curled together in the meadow all afternoon."

This feels cheesy and over the top to me, but I remind myself that Rachel is probably eating it up. I feel like someone else is saying these words and they're coming out in my voice. I'm not a sappy person. I should stop. Stop talking. But Rachel sighs against me, and I push ahead. "When they woke up," I say, "the sun was very low and the yellow jacket was no longer buzzing from clover to clover."

'It's time to go home,' said Chuck Bunny.

'Let's make spaghetti,' said Daisy Bunny.

'Yes, let's,' said Chuck Bunny.

"And they curled together later that night and fell asleep in each other's arms. The end."

"Quinn," Rachel says.

"What?" I'm embarrassed. That was the dumbest, silliest— "That was just for you, Rach. Please don't ever tell anyone –"

Rachel pulls me to her, kisses me. It's sweet and tender and it tastes like Rachel. I wrap my fingers in her hair and kiss her back. When I look at her again, I find myself completely taken with her. She's breathtaking. She's kissing me again and this time it's deep. It's not forceful, but it's so intense that our car is rocking back and forth. It's not just her thumb at my stomach any more, it's her whole hand, and it's _insistent. _It's such a deep kiss, I feel like she's searching for a way to connect our souls.

"God, Rach," I mumble against her. She drags her nails across my abdomen, and my hips cant up. I turn on the bench, crook my leg beneath me so I'm facing her. My hands grip tightly into her hair, pressing her harder against my face. There is heat in her mouth, and when her tongue slides against mine, I let my head thump sideways on the back of the car. She follows and, even though my eyes are closed, I can feel her repositioning herself above me.

She abandons my stomach and claws at my hip instead. I want to give her what she wants, to be closer, to feel her everywhere, but this space is small and awkward. The car is already swinging, and between that knowledge and the mewling sounds Rachel is pouring down my throat, I'm completely lost.

I want her hands on me. I want them all _over _me.

She pulls back slightly, breathless, and I've never seen _that_ look on her face before.

It absolutely unhinges me.

"Rachel," I choke out.

In answer, she kisses me again, and I give myself up to her. She can have everything, all of me. Anything she wants, it's hers.

This isn't the first time she's made me wet, but it's the first time I've been terrified about what that means for the two of us. And I've promised her that I'll sleep in her bed tonight. I'm a quivering mess, and all she did was kiss me.

When we break apart, we're both straining for breath. Her eyes are dark, her hair escaping her pigtails in places from my clumsy hand grasping at the back of her head.

I touch our foreheads together and breathe out 'wow' against her lips, and then I hold her while she shivers against me.

"Rach," I say, locking into those delicious eyes. "You were right. That kiss _did_ wreck me. God. You're amazing."

She kisses me again, sweetly this time. She's building me back up, and I smile against her mouth to show her that I know it.

I cup her neck, run my thumb over her jaw. She tastes amazing, natural. She tastes like Rachel Berry.

We kiss until the Ferris wheel brings us back to earth and I whisper into her ear how she's my fantasy come true. I know it's clumsy, that she deserves something smoother, better, but I need her to know how I feel about her, even if it doesn't do her justice.

When I take her hand to lead her out of the park, I glance at my watch. _Ten thirty_. There's still time.

We wander through the parking lot, and I fidget with my queen of hearts ring when she asks, "You're not taking me home yet, are you?"

"Do you want to drive this date?" I ask.

"No!" she laughs, "No way. This has been the best date ever." She links her arm through mine, and I'm inclined to agree with her.

"It's not over yet," I say.

The drive home is sweet, comfortable. She listens to the mix I made her on the stereo and holds my hand over the console. I keep an eye on the track number because if we're not to our next stop by the time it plays, I'll need to stop the cd.

When I pull into my driveway, Rachel casts a curious glance at me. I'm prepared for a barrage of questions about why we're at _my_ house, so when she opens her mouth and then closes it with a snap, I kiss her gently on the nose. "I'll be right back, Rach. Wait for me, okay?"

When I come back outside lugging a picnic basket, I try to see Rachel's reaction, but there's a glare on the windshield from the streetlamp. I load the picnic basket into the car, and by the time I'm back beside her, her expression is unreadable. I kiss her lightly and murmur, "Ready, sweetheart?"

I drive us out to the field I found near my house and park us under the stars. It's so clear tonight; I got lucky.

"Quinn, where are we?"

"We're in the meadow, Chuck Bunny," I say and then cringe internally. I'm trying way too hard to make this special.

But Rachel doesn't seem to mind. She actually seems to _like_ it, and I'm struck again that it's only one more reason we're perfect together.

I start the cd back up (I'd had to stop it, after all), pull Rachel from the car.

"Quinn?" She's hesitant, and I wonder if there's still some small part of her that doesn't trust me.

As I wait for her, the guitar and cymbals set a steady, optimistic rhythm and when Van Morrison's voice finally comes in with _Hey where did we go days when the rains came?_, Rachel's face softens and she lets me pull her into the glow of the headlights, the song pouring out through the open windows.

"Dance with me," I say, and when she grins, I twirl her to the music, pull her back to me. She wraps an arm around my neck and the other curls into mine.

I've danced with girls before, but not like this. It's still fun, sure, and Rachel's still laughing and letting me twirl her around, but it's also more... intimate. I feel like we're a couple, dancing like this in the middle of a field beneath the stars.

When it's time for the chorus, I hold her close and whsiper-sing in her ear. _Do you remember when we used to sing... _I'm humming the sha-la-las and even though it's a fast song, we're slow dancing now. Our hands are curled together under Rachel's jaw and I trace it with my finger without moving them.

"_So hard to find my way now that I'm all on my own,_" I sing to her and can feel the tightness in my throat, imagining her not wanting me, not wanting _this._

"Quinn," she says again, and there's a tenderness in her eyes. She's pleading for something, silently, and it breaks my heart and makes it beat with life at the same time.

I swallow thickly and continue. "_I saw you just the other day. My, how you have grown._" One of my hands is rubbing her back lightly. The other, still clasped with hers. Her eyes are open and wet. She's giving herself to me right now, just as I'm giving myself to her. "_Cast my memory back there lord, sometimes I'm overcome thinking about –"_ I nuzzle into her neck, kiss the next part into her skin with my mouth – _"making love in the green grass behind the stadium with you, my brown eyed girl._"

This is why I've chosen this song. I need her to hear me sing this lyric, need her to understand that this is not a new development for me. I've wanted her for such a long time. I've imagined us at school, imagined us kissing at football games and holding hands and, yes, I've imagined making love to her sweetly, tenderly. It may have taken me years to be willing to trade social acceptance in Lima for a taste of happiness with her, but now that I have, I need her to know it. I need there to not be any doubt in her mind about what I want. I don't care how long it takes us to get there; I just want her to know how I feel.

So when I sing the line about making love behind the stadium, there are tears in my eyes, and I hope she can see what put them there.

"_Do you remember when we used to sing..._"

And now she's settled back into me and singing softly with me, and nothing has ever felt more right to me than this moment.

When we're finished rolling through the chorus, Rachel sniffs and murmurs, "That's a break up song, Quinn."

I think for a moment before I correct her. "It's a song about never getting over someone," I say. When the next song begins playing, the last on the cd, she only looks at me. I think there could be tears in her eyes but I can't be sure through my own.

"Quinn," she says. "Is this...?"

I nod. "It's us. It's our song. The duet we sang in glee club a year ago. I saved it. I... listened to every night for months after we performed. Some nights it was _all_ I listened to."

We're not dancing now. We're standing in the grass, flooded in headlights, arms around one another and foreheads together, listening to our younger selves sing to one another about self acceptance and love. We were lost then. Lost girls, the two of us, together.

We don't speak. We don't need to.

When the song ends, we stand together for a long moment. Rachel breaks the silence with a sniffle. "I can't believe you saved that."

I'm a little surprised. "You didn't?"

"Of course _I_ did. I still have my baby teeth. I'm surprised _you_ did. I didn't even think you liked me."

"Well," I say. "You were wrong."

She laughs through her tears. "Clearly."

I don't want to break our moment, but it's time for our midnight picnic. I lace our fingers together. "Come on, Rach."

"Where are we going?"

"We have one more stop on tonight's tour before I take you home."

I pull the sleeping bag and blanket from the trunk and arrange them on the roof of my car before hoisting the picnic basket up.

Then, it's Rachel's turn. I climb on the hood and reach my hand down. She takes it, and I pull her up until she falls into me. I tighten my hands around her waist. I hope it looks like an accident, but I really just wanted to hold her again.

"I'm so lucky that you're here with me tonight," I tell her.

I grin, kiss her nose, and say, "up," as I push her at the waist and hold her steady while she scrambles up the windshield onto the roof. I'm beside her in a second, pulling her to the sleeping bag and draping the blanket over us.

"You hungry, Rach?" I ask, and she is.

I bring out the bowls, paper cups, a thermos.

"What's all this?" she asks, and I grin.

"Spaghetti," I say, and her face amazes me.

"You brought me to a meadow and made me spaghetti? You _planned_ that story?"

For an answer, I pull the single stem daisy that I packed into the picnic basket and hand it to her. I know I must look as sheepish as I feel. I should avoid trying to be smooth in the future. I'm not Puck or even Santana, for crying out loud. I roll my eyes at myself for trying too hard, but when Rachel presses a kiss to my mouth and weaves her fingers into my hair, I forget about everything else.

When she breaks the kiss, she whispers before pulling away, "You're the sweetest girl I've ever met, Quinn Fabray. I'm the luckiest girl alive to be here with you." She tucks the daisy into my hair just behind my ear and whispers "daisy" into my cheek.

Her words root themselves around my heart and grow up through me, blooming across my mouth in a smile. _I'm_ the luckiest girl alive.

We eat in silence for a while and just enjoy being together before we settle back on the sleeping bag and I pull a blanket over us. I play with her hair for a minute before I say, "Nobody has ever made me this comfortable before, Rachel. I've always had to keep a mask in place, but I don't with you. I've never let anyone see this deeply into me, and it kind of scares me a little."

"Quinn Fabray, afraid?" she says.

I nuzzle into her. "Don't joke, Rach."

"I'm not," she says softly, and somehow I can physically feel her taking my heart from me.

"Don't break it," I murmur, and I know she knows what I mean.

"Don't break mine," she says after a long minute.

So, that's where we are. Some place between together and separate. Trying to find out how to fit together. I know we will, I just can't see it right this moment, and it scares me.

I'm not waiting tonight for her to ask me. I start singing softly in her ear.

"_She's got a way about her; don't know what it is, but I know that I can't live without her."_ Her breath catches and she tangles her hand tightly in mine.

"Quinn," she breathes. It always makes me smile when I hear my name fall like that from her lips.

I keep my voice as soft as I can – there's no one here but this is just for us.

"_She's got a smile that heals me..._" and now I'm humming the tune against her neck, reveling in how deep she's breathing against me. I press a kiss against her skin there, and she clutches tighter at me. When the chorus is over, I find the words again and nudge my voice back into them. I sing her the whole song.

She's silent a long while and it's nearly driving me crazy, wanting to know what she's thinking. She finally says, "Did you mean what you said on the Ferris wheel? About us belonging together?"

"What do you think, Chuck," I ask, and she giggles.

"_Daisy_," she teases back, and my fingers go absently to the flower she tucked behind my ear. And then she says, "Chuck sounds so _butch_."

"Well, you _did _kind of own that football uniform last fall," I say.

Gasping, she sits up, her eyes wide in shock. "God, am I the _butch_ one?"

She's panicking, and it's adorable. "Calm down, Rachel. Neither of us is particularly butch. I think we have kind of a good thing going here; we can both fill masculine or feminine rolls comfortably with one another as needed without resorting to super strict labels. Besides," I pull her back to me again, and she relaxes, "you're pretty super girly and it drives me kind of crazy. Good crazy. You know that, right?"

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," she sighs dreamily.

Rachel Berry sure can pull off an emotional one-eighty.

Before I can stop myself, I hear myself asking, "Go to homecoming with me, Rach?"

I freeze. She freezes. That... was not part of tonight's plan, but now that it's out there I don't want it back.

She's looking at me now and I can't look away.

"Are you... sure you're ready for that kind of step, Quinn? We've only been out together once. For us to go to homecoming _together_..."

"Everyone would know about us," I finish for her. I think about it, _really _think about it. It's nothing I can't handle. Being sixteen and pregnant proved that. Finally I decide that I finally feel happy. I shrug. "People can say what they want, Rach. You make me happy, and I'm tired of hiding from that. I want to take you to homecoming. As my date." Just so there's zero confusion.

She squeals and kisses me breathless. "Can we get each other corsages?"

I'm laughing now. She delights me. I only want to make her happy. "Yes, sweetheart, we definitely can," I tell her.

I want to stay with her here forever, and my heart swells to know she does too when she says quietly, "I don't want this to end, Quinn."

I hold her and promise, "Even though we have to go home tonight, Rach, those stars will always be above us and I'll always be here, holding you beneath them." When she doesn't answer me, I think I've said something too forward. I silently backtrack. Shit. I used the word _always._ On a first date.

Nice going, Quinn.

I'm trying to think how I can take it back without sounding desperate when I feel her lips on mine. I feel like my eyes might roll back into my head. She feels so amazing.

Nobody has ever kissed me like Rachel Berry kisses me. She deepens the kiss, rubs her tongue hotly against mine, and I can't help but imagine her mouth in other places on my body. I shudder against her, and suddenly her knee slides over mine.

We're thigh to thigh, and this could get very dangerous, very quickly.

I kiss her once more and then push her back gently. She looks positively wounded.

"Rach," I say gently. "This is our first date. I'm trying to be a..." I roll my eyes. Oh, why the hell not. "A gentleman," I finish lamely. All this talk about who's butch and who's not.

She laughs a breathy laugh. "My hero," she says and pushes herself up.

I catch her by the hand. "Hey," I say. "I want you. You have no idea how much. But... this is our first date, and I'm supposed to sleep in your bed tonight and _behave_ myself, and you're making it kind of tough on me."

She kisses me again, and I know she understands.

"I get it, Quinn, and I kind of love this heroic side of you. It's romantic. You should let other people see how gentle and sweet you can be."

"Not likely. This is just for you, Rach."

I kiss her nose, mostly just because I can. "Come on, Chuck. Let me take you home."

"Okay, baby," she says, and it slips so easily off her tongue and nestles itself so soundly into my ear that I stop and hug her fiercely.

"God, do I love the sound of that," I tell her.

She lets me pull her off the car, and when she slides slowly down my body and lands in my arms, she steals my breath again. I've lost track of how many times she's taken it now.

We leave our meadow behind with murmured promises of how we'll return, and how I'll sing to her when we're there and how she'll hold my head in her lap and tuck daisies into my hair.

I take her home and help her out of the car, walk her to her door.

"Do you want to come up?" she asks coyly.

She's playing her romantic comedy part perfectly.

I get what she's doing, but part of me doesn't want to play right now. "Rach, I'm curious. What would your dads think about that? If I took their daughter out on a date and then slept in her bed afterward right under their noses."

She only rolls her eyes and says, "Oh, stop being so dramatic. You know they don't care, as long as we're... good. Daddy isn't even home right now. He works nights."

She makes no move to bring us inside, and I know instinctively what she wants. What every girl deserves at the end of the perfect first date. I slip into her romantic comedy scenario and lean forward, ever so slightly.

"I had a really good time tonight, Rachel," I say in a low voice.

"So did I, Quinn." She fidgets with her keys; the nervous first kiss goodnight. She's so adorable.

I won't make her wait any longer. I hold her gaze until it loses focus with our closeness and press my lips softly against hers. My arm tingles where I feel her hand glide smoothly up; she squeezes my bicep once and keeps moving until her arms are around my neck.

I leave mine on her waist, unmoving, playing my part as closely as I can. I end the kiss as softly as I began it, and when I pull back, her eyes are still closed and she has the dreamiest look on her face.

"You're so adorable," I murmur and tug at a pigtail lightly.

She giggles, kisses my cheek. "I really did have a good time tonight. It was the best first date in history."

"That makes me really happy, Rach."

"Come on in, _Daisy_," she says and pulls me along behind her.

We change our clothes with shy glances and then she's pulling again until we're tumbling into bed together, entwining arms and legs, melting into one another again. Skin on skin. Breath on breath.

Here, in the darkness where I can't even see her face, here is where I _feel_ her. We communicate without words, sing to each other without music.

She makes my heart flare and feel so full. She makes me _care_ just by holding me close to her.

I want to kiss her all night again, but I'm honestly exhausted, and I know she is, too. We settle for snuggling together, nose to nose, belly to belly. I can feel her whole body, feel the heat pouring off it. My hot-blooded little Chuck Bunny. I roll my eyes at the cheesiness, but it doesn't matter. It's a small price to pay for feeling this happy.

"Goodnight, Rach," I whisper to her through the darkness.

She's nearly asleep but she answers anyway with a groggy, "Goodnight, baby."

_Baby._

I let the nickname roll around in my head for a minute while sleep overtakes me and I sink down slowly beside Rachel.

I could be Rachel Berry's baby. I could let someone take care of me for a change. She wants to. God knows why, but she's actually _wants_ to.

When sleep finally claims me, my last conscious thought is that I finally belong with someone.

I might still be standing in the rain, looking in the window, but someone is out here with me, holding my hand, whispering _baby_ in my ear.

For once, the rain pours down around me and I don't even feel it.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I tried something different for this chapter. You'll either love it or hate it. Let me know which. _

* * *

><p>You can't possibly sleep.<p>

How could you?

Quinn Fabray is in your bed. For the _second _night in a row. She's in your bed, and she's letting you hold her, spoon her from behind, and she took you out on a date last night.

No.

Not just a date.

The _perfect_ date.

And she was sweet and charming and... She held your hand and wrapped you in her Cheerios jacket and kissed you in the driveway. She gaped at you when you won her that ring at the shooting gallery; she twisted it and toyed with all night. You kissed her on the Ferris wheel; she sang to you beneath the stars.

She pleaded with you not to break her heart.

It was perfect.

And still...

You try to shake it off, but you just can't. Here, in the quiet of your bedroom, last night a perfect memory, you wonder if that's all it was. If that's all it _can_ be.

It's only been one weekend, one perfect weekend with Quinn Fabray, and maybe that's all you get. Maybe that's all she can give you.

Sure, you'll have tomorrow, if you can convince her to stay, but you know that this is the last night she'll be _here_. In your arms.

And Monday at school? Well, there's just no telling. You seriously doubt she'll be mean to you; she hasn't been in over a year, but you also doubt that she'll acknowledge you much at all. This is _Quinn Fabray_, and she's been perfect when it's just the two of you, but you honestly have no reason to believe that things won't just go back to normal once you're at school.

You can feel your own heart racing, can feel the tears coming.

You're going to lose her, and you never even had her.

* * *

><p>It's a Sunday, and it isn't even light outside yet. So, naturally, I'm beyond annoyed that something is waking me up.<p>

When I realize _what_ is waking me up, my irritation evaporates into a soft moan.

It's Rachel.

More specifically, Rachel's mouth on my neck.

The moment it registers that she's kissing the skin just below my hairline, my eyes flutter, and I'm lost. Her arms are securely around my waist, holding me against her. I can feel her breathing against my back, deep and steady. Heavy.

I let last night wash over me. Watching her in the moonlight, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her words on the Ferris wheel and what they did to me. Dancing in the grass.

It was perfect. _She _was perfect.

And now I'm in her bed, wrapped in her arms. This can't be happening, what she's making me feel. How fast she's making me fall for her.

I've cared about her for so long now, but treating her horribly and then admiring her from a distance is a far cry from being cradled in her arms in the middle of the night.

She's too soft; it's too real.

What if I mess this up? I can't hurt her; she's been hurt so many times. God, what if she hurts _me_?

I'm in danger of losing myself, and it scares me. It also makes me feel like I can fly.

She presses another hot kiss to my neck, soft and slow, no hurry. It's all we did last night, this languid kissing, but then she let me lead. Now, I'm in her control and the way she's kissing me, moving her body against mine... I still can't believe that she wants me like this.

"Are you awake?" she whispers in the dark. I thought I'd heard every sound that Rachel's voice could make, but there's something new in it now, and it sends a shiver all the way down.

It's her bedroom voice. And this is the closest I've ever been to it.

"Yes." I barely breathe; it's like she'll stop if I move too suddenly, speak too loudly. I don't want to break her spell.

"Is this okay?" she asks in that same voice. And then, "I couldn't stay away. I need to feel you."

"Please don't stop," is the only thing I can think of to whisper back. I hear my own voice in the darkness. It sounds scared. Like I'm afraid she'll roll out of bed and leave me here at any moment. I only want her lips on my skin, her arms around me forever.

But she's not leaving. She's not even moving.

She's still kissing the same spot lightly over and over. My heart is pounding in my chest and my breath is coming in soft gasps. When I feel her tongue lick gently at me, both stop altogether.

* * *

><p>This is a night of losing battles.<p>

You try so hard to keep yourself from Quinn, from initiating anything _more._ But her skin is so smooth, so white. Even in the darkness, it catches the moonlight and throws it back effortlessly. Her shoulders, her neck, how she fits against you... She's perfect. And it's been hours, after all, since you've had your mouth on her.

Your eyes flutter at how deliciously dirty that sounds, and you grasp at her. God, you need her closer, always closer.

When she whispers for you not to stop, you can feel it somewhere deep, like a funny little _flip_ somewhere down inside of you. You breathe her in through your nose, and your mouth literally waters for her.

There are so many places on her neck for you to kiss, you almost don't even know where to begin. You want to taste it all.

You nuzzle into her, feel her sigh. One of her hands grasps yours at her middle, locks your fingers together. The other finds your hip and squeezes.

You lick tentatively just behind her ear and when she groans and pushes back into you, there's a kind of _friction_ and you... God. You literally see stars.

This could be it. You could have tonight, and that's it, and you're not going to let her get away without understanding how she makes you feel, how much you want her.

She needs to know.

You press your mouth to her neck, holding nothing back. Every ounce of want, every look she gave you last night, every breath she's stolen from your lungs. _This_ is where it's been stored up, held back until you were ready for her to see. And when you pour it into her skin, the sound she makes sears you through, and you shake against her.

* * *

><p><em>Rachel<em>.

It takes me a minute to realize I've said it out loud.

She shifts slightly, and the feel of her breasts pressing into my shoulder blades draws a whimper from my chest. She ghosts her lips over my neck, following the hairline, placing soft kisses as she goes. She pushes again and her thigh rubs against my shorts; her legs are curved against mine, and I fight to keep myself from grinding back into her.

Are we ready for that?

When she bites lightly on my earlobe, I gasp, lose the debate I was having with myself, and rock back.

My hand flies backward to her hip and grabs – I'm looking for something to hold on to, but at the sound she makes, I'm fisting her shorts and pulling her body harder into mine.

She's hovering above my ear, panting into it, her fingers dug into my skin, holding on like she's afraid I'll fall away from her if she lets go.

I rock again; her head drops down, presses against mine.

"Quinn," she breathes into me and I soak her in.

Her hand is on my hip now, our arms criss-crossed. She pushes for more leverage and I grind back again. She stifles her moan by latching her lips to my neck and sucking, hard.

I've never felt anything like it, being sucked on back there.

I can't remember how to breathe, or if I even _am_ breathing,

It's hot in here. Rachel's always giving off heat, but now with the way she's moving against me, I can feel in a way I've never felt before. This is different.

The way she's moving against me, I can feel that she's not in control.

"Rachel."

Her lips are still moving slowly and her body is even moving slowly, but she's grinding against me deeply now, and with purpose.

I know where this is going, and I desperately try to claw some clarity out of the haze in my brain.

I squeeze at her hip; she hums into my neck. She's kissing, licking, sucking. It's driving me crazy.

"Quinn, I want you," she mumbles, and the thought of someone like her wanting someone like me makes my eyes flutter closed and I lean back into her.

"You do?" I whisper, and for some reason it makes her laugh in my ear, a low chuckle.

"Are you serious?"

I don't know what to say, so I just toss a look over my shoulder and swallow. I hope she knows what I mean.

Her fingers are on my face, my arm, she's pulling me, urging me to turn towards her. I roll and she wraps me in her arms, rubbing her nose lightly against mine.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," she says in that bedroom voice. I feel like this is wrong; like she's about to say something about how we're not meant to work or that this is my last night with her. We'll dissolve this in the morning. Move on.

Things will go back to normal, and we'll ignore each other in the halls, in glee club.

"What?" I whisper, afraid of her answer.

She looks hesitant. "Are you _sure_ you want to hear this? I can't take it back once I've said it."

Well, now I have to know. "Rach, just tell me. Please."

"Okay." She plays with my hair, gazes into my eyes. She's nervous. "I've... I've never been more aroused in my life, Quinn. I _want_ you." She squeezes me on the word want, and I can feel it.

Oh god, I can feel her everywhere.

I can't be hearing this.

I swallow. "Rachel."

"What?"

"I don't... How am I supposed to stop myself after hearing _that_?"

"Maybe that's the point. Maybe I don't _want _you stop yourself."

I feel my groan this time more than hear it. This is what unadulterated frustration sounds like. "Your dads are right down the hall."

"Is that really all that's stopping you?" she asks, and I wonder if it is. She runs the softest hands up and down my arms. She leans forward, and I think she's going to kiss me, but what she does is so much worse. She rubs her cheek against mine and whispers in my ear, "You should feel how wet you're making me right now."

There is nothing in this world to prepare me for Rachel's words, to say nothing of how they were delivered.

The only thing I can do is shut my eyes and hold on to her. I know she's watching, my face, my reaction, but I _can't_. Her words have funneled straight inside of me, burrowed deep. They're tugged something loose that I didn't know was there, and now I can feel it unfurling in my gut.

I clutch at her. I'm trembling.

When I finally wrench my voice loose, it's a strangled and choked, "Rachel!"

* * *

><p>You know it's a low blow, telling Quinn that you're wet. And you're so <em>nervous<em>, saying that to her. You've never said anything like it, not to another soul.

And her reaction? God. The way her jaw clenches, muscles working, her eyes screwed shut so tightly. Her breathing was deep before but when you whisper _those_ words into her ear, the way her chest begins heaving against you... You've never seen anything like it.

The change that took place in her, right before your eyes. It's... amazing. And erotic.

She still won't look at you, but her chest is still heaving. Her neck muscles are still rippling with her constant swallowing. It's driving you crazy, and you can't help it; you plunge forward and suck at her neck, which gurgles beneath your mouth in arousal.

You _know_ that Quinn wants you just as much as you want her, and if it's just for tonight, it's just for tonight. You'll take her however you can get her.

You can't stop.

You _won't_.

So, when you push against Quinn's shoulder and she _lets_ you, a triumphant feeling bubbles through you and you settle yourself on top of her, still completely devoted to her neck. Her hands are all over your back, pulling you closer. She wants this. She wants _you_.

The thought makes you groan into her, gives you enough courage to push against her with your thigh, moving her legs apart to make room for you.

She's panting against your ear, her fingertips digging into your shoulder blades and when you push your thigh down into her, you can _feel_ how much she wants you, and it makes you _throb_. You groan and bite her shoulder, she bows up off the bed, pushing at your shoulders, a strangled sound in her throat.

"Rach, wait."

You don't _want_ to wait, but the panic in Quinn's voice makes you pull up short, panting hard.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, chews her lip.

"I-I want you, too, Rach. So much," she says in a quiet voice, and your heart soars. You grin and push back down for another kiss, but she holds you back. "Wait. Can we just..." She struggles to sit up. You sigh and pull back completely. You blew it. "No," she says, leaning against the wall, still quiet, "come here?"

She holds open her arms and you settle into her, letting her hold you, stroke your hair. This is _not_ what you wanted from her tonight.

You wanted one night of feeling, touching, tasting. You wanted passion and desire.

The way that she's holding you now? It's none of those things.

It's better.

Because you can feel her heart pounding against your ear. You can feel her fingers in your hair, tender and slow. She's caressing you, holding you.

Caring for you.

And it's better than a million nights of meaningless passion.

She kisses your temple, and you try to reign yourself in. You got carried away, and you know it. You're kind of happy that she's not making you look at her right now.

"Rachel." Your name has never sounded so soothing. She cradles you, and you feel completely safe against her.

* * *

><p>I love holding Rachel Berry. I never would have admitted it a year ago; actually, I wouldn't have admitted a <em>week<em> ago. But something finally broke in me when Finn made that asinine comment about Rachel's mother. I just couldn't hold myself back from her any longer.

And now I don't have to.

The way she's warmed to me, it's incredible. I don't deserve it. I never deserved it and I know that, but I still wouldn't trade it for the world.

It takes me a full minute to realize that she's crying into my chest.

"Chuck," I say, stroking her hair. "Talk to me."

She doesn't look up. She just mumbles what sounds like "I've ruined it" into my collarbone, and it makes me ache. It actually makes me physically hurt that she thinks I care so little about her.

"You haven't ruined anything," I tell her. When she looks up at me, I can see that her eyes are red, even in the darkness. Just that quickly. "Oh, Rach," I breathe and tug at her again, but she resists.

"What's going to happen at school on Monday?" She's really been thinking about this. "I keep trying to imagine it, Quinn, but I just can't. I _can't_ picture us together at school." The tears have quieted for now, but there's a tremor in her voice.

I twirl my fingers in her hair. I'm not sure if it's meant to calm her or me, but it seems to be working on both of us. "Why not?" I ask as gently as I can.

"Well. You're popular," she says, and it draws a laugh so loud that I hope I didn't wake her dads. She's frowning at me now, which only makes me want to laugh more.

"Rachel, I'm _not_ popular. And even if I were, that wouldn't be a reason for you not to be able to picture us together at school."

"You _are_ popular," she argues. "You're the head Cheerio."

"But not because I'm popular. I tried out for it." I shrug. "I'm good at it."

"But being a cheerleader makes you popular."

Another laugh, gentler this time. I don't want her to think I think she's ridiculous. She's not frowning at me any more, at least, but she still doesn't get it. "Says who?"

"You dated the quarterback."

I stare at her this time. Now she's just being crazy. "So did you," I tell her.

She thinks for a minute, regroups. "Well, you have _friends_. This is the first time I've..."

I arch an eyebrow. "The first time you've what?"

"Had a sleepover," she mumbles, and it sounds so apologetic that I clutch her closer to me. It's not really protecting her from anything, but it makes me feel like it _could _be.

"Rachel." There's no way to really ease her into this, so I'm just going to say it. "I'm not popular. What I have is _influence_. Not friends. It's not the same thing." She doesn't say anything so I add, "I mean, name _one_."

"Santana," she whispers, and I laugh. I don't say anything because I don't have to. She must know that's absurd.

She does.

"Brittany," she tries again, but as soon as she says it, we both know that that doesn't feel right either.

I squeeze her shoulder. "Face it, Rach. Before I got pregnant, I was only as good as the guy I was with. I had just as many real friends as you." _None._

"None," Rachel whispers. We're so much on the same page, she's echoing my thoughts now.

"None," I agree. "And that's not good enough for me anymore."

I can feel her deflate against me. "That's understandable, Quinn. We can... be friends."

This time, I'm _sure_ my laugh will wake up her dads. She looks hurt, but it's adorable on her, and I kiss her nose tenderly. "Rach. We're not friends. We'll never _be_ friends. That's not who we are."

There's a long pause before she says in the smallest voice I've ever heard, "What are we then, Quinn?"

That's a very good question. What is Rachel Berry, to me? I know what I hope I am to her, but I don't know if I'm at the point where I can actually tell her so.

For a long time, she was just annoying. And then she was manipulative. And then she was a boyfriend thief. And a diva. A teammate.

And soon she was this talented, driven, _strong_ person who just... commanded my attention, whether I wanted her to or not.

The girl who made me feel alive again.

So, what do I tell her?

The truth, I guess. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and shrug. "You're my home."

* * *

><p>You can't help your next question. You couldn't even help your last one. (And what were you thinking, anyway, asking Quinn what you <em>are<em>? Are you insane?)

"What are you going to do?" you ask, mostly because you don't know what Quinn means by 'that's not good enough anymore.'

She shrugs. "I"m going to treat you like you deserve to be treated. I'm going to stop using people. I'm going to stop clinging to popularity like it's the only thing I have going for me and see what happens."

"Will you kiss me in the hallway?" You're being pushy tonight, needy. This is what you _always_ do, and you always _lose_, but you just can't seem to stop.

She thinks a moment before she says, "I won't _hide_ you, Rachel. People will probably infer that we're together. But..." Here it comes. "As far as how affectionate I'll be able to be with you in public... we'll just have to see. This is all totally new for me, and I... I really don't know."

She sounded so serious and you felt so strongly for a moment that she was going to hurt you. You can feel the laughter bubbling up inside of you . This is where you grin at her and she ducks her head with a slight scowl on her face as if to ask _what's so funny?_ You say, "We both know you can't keep your hands off me."

She scoffs, and it makes you giggle more. "Please. _You're _the one leaving hickeys on _my_ neck."

You're both giggling now, but your happiness is quelled abruptly by a tapping at your door.

"It's not disputed," daddy's voice comes through the door loud and clear and you can feel your face turning nine shades of red, "that Quinn is the honorable one in the relationship, but if you girls don't keep it down and let your fathers get some sleep tonight, there won't be an opportunity for you to give Quinn any hickeys for at _least_ a month. Is that understood?"

"Yes, daddy," you mumble into Quinn's shoulder as she groans and flings your comforter over her head.

She holds her breath longer than you ever thought anyone could, and you finally whisper, "Quinn, he's gone and—"

"Rachel, that was _mortifying._"

You smile. "At least they think you're the honorable one," you offer, and she groans again. And then, because what she said made something come alive inside of you, and you _have_ to know, "So, we're... together?"

She's holding her breath again, but when she whispers back, you can hear the smile in her voice, "Yes, Chuck. If you want us to be."

You snuggle into her again, feel her arm wrap around you, pull you into her. "I want us to be," you whisper, and she kisses your hair.

* * *

><p>No matter how desperate I am to freeze the night and forever stay wrapped in the warmth of Rachel's arms, I'm completely powerless. Morning always comes. Darkness fades into daylight and, with it, the heavy realization that Rachel's dads are both home today. Sunday is family day, Rachel informed me last night, and though she offered me the chance to skip it today, I can't stand the thought of spending this last day away from her before school changes everything.<p>

I like how I feel when I'm with her. There's no expectation on me to be the perfect daughter or the nationally ranked cheerleader or even just the girl with all the answers. Rachel knows that I don't have any answers, and it doesn't change the way she looks at me.

I held on to her all night, dreaded what this morning would bring. I have to leave the safety of this world we've built, the two of us. I have to somehow figure out how to _be_ around other people.

In the night, it's just her and me. It's safe, unassuming. Perfect.

The entire weekend has been that way, and I've been happier the past two days than I can ever remember being, all because of Rachel.

But morning always comes.

The sun won't stay down forever.

This right here? This is the Quinn I don't know how to be. The public Quinn. The Quinn-with-Rachel-in-front-of-everyone Quinn.

I force a breath out through my nose, and that's when I realize that Rachel's soulful brown eyes are trained on me, knowing and unblinking.

* * *

><p>The look on her face is something like what you imagine you'd see if you caught her kissing someone else. The thought pulls an ache through your chest and you wrestle your focus back on Quinn's furrowed brow.<p>

"Tell me what you're thinking?" You say it like you're afraid she'll stretch her wings and fly away if you speak too loudly.

The sun is up now, has been for some time you guess, and Quinn is sharing your pillow. Her trepidation dissolves immediately, and suddenly she's looking at you with the most sincere and open expression you've ever seen on her face.

She's breathtaking.

"I just like being here with you," she offers softly, and you know that's as close as you're going to get to her tumultuous thoughts.

You've known Quinn Fabray since junior high, and just because you didn't kiss her until forty-eight hours ago doesn't mean that you don't _know_ her. In fact, for all your surreptitious side-of-the-eye glances and hovering just within earshot while shuffling books around inside your locker, there's probably not anyone at McKinley that you know better, Finn included.

You know that she can be cloudy sometimes. There are times when you've seen her stare at the same page of her book in the choir room's back row for the entire hour without ever turning the page.

She's not reading. She's torturing herself.

And, while it absolutely _kills_ you, it's part of what makes Quinn, well, _Quinn._

She's going to think how she's going to think and there might have been a time when you daydreamed of forcing her to talk about it, of becoming the girl _who saved Quinn Fabray_, but that was long before she held you and let you kiss her.

That was before she made herself vividly real to you, something other than just the head cheerleader, the girl who broke her own heart to give her daughter a chance in this world.

Now, all you really want is for her to let you be with her while she's lost inside that world in her head, to let you hold her hand, to lead her out when the times comes.

"So," she says, and you can read it in her eyes that she's thinking about you. "Are we really going to do this?"

You feign ignorance. Maybe it'll make the situation more comfortable for her. "Have breakfast? People generally do that in the morning, yes." She rolls her eyes, and you laugh. Keep it light. This is the happiest you've ever felt, and you want her to know it, to see it in your eyes. You don't hide them from her when you say, "I like you, Quinn, and you like me. We can do anything we want."

"I guess you're going to be the strong one today, huh?"

You snuggle into her. "It's only fair after how amazing you were last night," you tell her, and when she shushes you and kisses your nose, you can't hide the smile that develops on your face.

* * *

><p>It takes Rachel three tries to get me out of her room and downstairs to breakfast. I keep pretending that I'm pulling her back in for more kisses, and it's not that unbelievable because I <em>really<em> like kissing her. I know that she can see through me, that I'm secretly terrified of showing our relationship in front of her fathers.

Before she tugs my hand one last time and pulls me into the hallway and down the stairs, I worry vaguely about what school will be like. It won't be this scary. It _can't_ be.

These are Rachel's dads. They _care_ about her.

There's no one at school that cares about either one of us enough to make me nervous about tomorrow. Not like this.

I push my feelings down and stand awkwardly next to Rachel at the table, eyeing her dads in the kitchen.

The pancakes are already made, eggs, bacon, orange juice. All on the table.

Rachel grabs me by the hand, holds it firmly.

I arch an eyebrow at her and bite back a smile when she tries to do it back.

"Not quite, Rach," I murmur. "You'll have to work on it."

I expect her to fake a pout, but she's full of surprises. She grins cheekily and says, "What? And take away the _one thing_ you can beat me at? I would never do that to you."

I'm shocked and stung and delighted all at once. Rachel Berry, with her quit wit, has actually made me come up short for a response.

I open and close my mouth a few times while she just smirks. I'm saved by her dad.

"Who's ready for the 928th consecutive weekly Berry Jamma Brunch?" he asks, striding in from the kitchen, a platter of fresh fruit in hand.

"Jamma Brunch?"

"When Rachel was little, she couldn't pronounce the word 'pajamas.' She called our Sunday morning tradition 'Jamma Brunch,' and it stuck. It's a weekly thing." He sets the fruit down, kisses Rachel on the forehead. "It's nice to see you again, Quinn," he says cheerfully, pecking me on the forehead as well, and then he's gone, back into the kitchen.

If he saw me clinging to his daughter's hand like it was the only thing in this world keeping me afloat, he didn't think enough about it to react.

* * *

><p>I don't remember ever sitting at the actual table in the morning with my family. We had family dinner every night, sure, but breakfast? Never.<p>

It surprises me that it feels so much more intimate than dinner. Less formal. Though, maybe that's because Rachel's dad Leroy keeps singing into his spoon like it's a microphone. It's hard to be formal when there's a large black man crooning Stevie Wonder into his flatware.

Hiram's telling stories about how all of his coworkers are complete _geeks_ – Rachel snorts at her dad sounding like a teenage girl – and how he's the most socially adapted guy in the whole IT department. Leroy looks tired from working nights, but he's leaning on his hand and smiling at Hiram with a look of pure adoration on his face.

Rachel feeds herself with one hand while the other holds tightly to mine beneath the table. I can feel her heat, even in this simple touch, and it comforts me, keeps me from floating up out of my seat with nervousness. Every so often, her thumb skims light circles on the back of my hand, and I can't believe how amazing it feels to just have someone want to sit next to me and hold my hand during Jamma Brunch.

I try to remember the last time anyone in my family held hands. I can't think of one time. And the adults _never _spoke to the children like Hiram and Leroy are speaking (and _listening_) to Rachel. Like she's an actual contributor to the family. It's so foreign to me.

The topic turns to glee club, but I'm so lost in contrasting my family with Rachel's that I don't even notice. Now Leroy looks expectant, genuinely interested in my answer to the question he's just asked. An adult – a _man_, no less – has just asked me my opinion on something at the breakfast table. Crap. And I didn't even hear it.

Suddenly, I can't swallow, can't breathe. I was perfectly content to sit still and eat and let Rachel hold my hand without garnering any attention. Now, there are three sets of eyes on me, waiting for my reply.

I swallow.

And again.

I glance at Rachel apologetically, and then she's flashing me her brilliant show stopping smile and leaning into me. She kisses my cheek, and I can feel my blush spreading out beneath her lips like ink spilled onto paper.

"Just be yourself, Quinn," she whispers and kisses me again. "Relax. Daddy just wants to know about your solo for next week."

I fight the urge to arch my eyebrow. It's so _easy_ to slip into head cheerleader mode when I feel like I'm out of my league.

There's a moment – a split second – when I think I can't possibly handle this without the head cheerleader's help. I shouldn't be here, sitting at Rachel Berry's table with her dads regarding me with such soft expressions. _I don't deserve Jamma Brunch_ I want to say, to scream, actually. _I don't deserve_ **_Rachel._**

But the moment passes, swallowed up into Rachel's eyes. I feel my expression soften, and Rachel visibly relaxes, runs her thumb on my hand. She kisses my cheek again, and this time I lean into it.

If they want to see how Rachel makes me feel, what she makes me want to be, I'll show them.

I sigh and nuzzle her back before telling Leroy and Hiram all about my solo, and by the time the 928th consecutive weekly Berry Jamma Brunch is over, there are four of us singing into our spoons.

* * *

><p>Quinn helps you clear the table, and you spend the rest of the afternoon snuggled up against her on the couch, watching old Alfred Hitchcock movies.<p>

She makes a comment about being surprised that you like suspense and all you can think of to say is "well, Quinn, my areas of interest are broad enough to include other genres _besides_ old musicals." The comeback itself isn't phenomenal, but you _do _manage a very believable lofty annoyance that seems to both satisfy you and make Quinn grin against your temple simultaneously. When her arms tighten around you, you snuggle closer to her and she rests her cheek on the top of your head.

She's playing with your fingers and breathing against you and smelling so _amazing_ that you completely forget about the movie. Everything is over too quickly, but it's still the most perfect afternoon you can ever remember having. You trail your fingertips up and down her arm and she sighs contentedly.

When you press a soft, deliberate kiss to her neck she hums and stiffens, and you smile into her, ecstatic to be able to pull such an immediate response from her body.

* * *

><p>The second movie is nearly over when Hiram comes trudging up the back stairs, a look of satisfaction on his face and several flimsy glossy prints in his hands.<p>

Rachel pulls herself up, perches on the edge of the couch. "Dad?"

He holds up the prints. "Last night's photographs?" he offers, and Rachel squeals, bounces off the couch, pulling me with her.

I'm smiling because she's smiling; I'm happy because she's happy.

"Come _on_, Quinn, these have _you_ in them!"

Wait. What?

* * *

><p>You knew when you heard dad on the stairs that he was coming up from the darkroom. You knew what he would have with him, and you knew if <em>Quinn <em>knew, she might be less than enthusiastic.

So, when you bound off the couch, your eagerness to see those photographs is as much for Quinn as it is for you.

You _know_ your dads photography. Over the course of your life, he's taken thousands of pictures and developed them in his darkroom. You've seen him use shadow and contrast to tell a thousand stories in a single photograph; you've watched him capture whole moments and tame them like they were alive. There are a hundred pictures of you hanging in the foyer, and you've studied every one of them meticulously, finding glimpses of your dad in every single one.

You _know_ his photographs.

So when he fans _these_ photographs out in front of you, you're completely shocked to hear the breathy "oh _Quinn_" fall out of your mouth.

Your dad has somehow captured every beautiful thing about Quinn Fabray and displayed each one, frame after frame. Her eyes, trained on you, full of tenderness and caring; her hair, full and wild; her mouth curved in a full-blown smile, teeth showing through her genuine laugh. Her arms are around you, and her face is full of the deepest beauty, presented in starkest black and white.

For a second, you literally forget how to breathe.

By the time you walk Quinn to the door, it's dark outside. She spent the whole day with your family.

You've spent the whole weekend together, and it only made you want more. More of her time, more of her kisses, more of her laugh, more of her skin.

She swings your hand back and forth, nudges you playfully.

You told yourself that you would take whatever she could give you. She gave you this weekend, and it was amazing. You've never felt so happy in another person's company. No matter what happens after tonight, she's told you that she wants you, that you're her home.

_Her home_, Rachel Berry.

Quinn Fabray feels _that_ about _you._

At the door, you cup her cheek, rub your thumb on the skin there. She's so beautiful when she's smiling at you like this.

You push up gently, and you're kissing the softest lips, feeling the softest breath. She holds you closer, strokes your hair.

"Can I pick you up tomorrow morning?" she asks, and you nod.

It seems there's nothing left to say. Why do you feeling like you're breaking up when she's asking if she can pick you up tomorrow?

It's just too much, all this emotion. When she looks at you like that, she makes you feel _everything_.

"I don't want this to end," you whisper, and she laughs gently, holds you that much tighter.

"It's only beginning, Rach," she promises, and then when she adds, "I haven't had such a good day in a long time," you believe her. She rests her forehead against yours and murmurs, "I was so nervous about this, but I love them."

You don't have to tell her that they love her too. They showed her today.

She's kissing you again, soft and deep, and you melt into her, pull her closer. She moans softly, and you can feel fingertips on your neck, caressing and then running through your hair.

When you pull apart, barely, you murmur against her lips, "I still can't believe that you want me."

There's a flash of something – pain, is it? – before she smiles widely and kisses the tip of your nose. Then, she scoops up her new photographs of the two of you off the stairs and holds them delicately between her fingers.

"You look so beautiful in those," you say. You've been telling her all day, but you can't help it. The girl you just held in your arms is the most beautiful girl in the whole world, and you can hardly believe that she wants you, too.

"_You_ are," she says playfully and nudges you again. "I'll see you tomorrow, Chuck."

You watch her drive away and when her taillights finally fade out of view, you close the door, and lean back against it, sighing.

You can still hear her words in your ear, can still feel her lips against yours. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you can't help but feel like you just got romanced straight out of an old black and white musical.

The entire way up to your room, your feet never touch the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I want to thank all of you for joining me for this story. It's bittersweet for me, finishing a fic that I've loved for so long, but here it is. The final chapter of Kissing Quinn Fabray. I may, in the future, be moved to write more about this version of Quinn and Rachel (I have two very solid ideas for same-verse fics) but it's time for **this** story to be closed. If you would like to be notified of other stories in this verse, please set up an author alert or keep this story on story alert and I will post any additional links as further chapters so you can find them easily. As always, I would love to hear what you think, and I want to thank all of you for experiencing this story with me. It's been unreal, the response to it, and I thank you. We've come full circle, back to Rachel's experience with what's happened over this intense weekend with Quinn, and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>You didn't sleep at all.<p>

How could you? With the smell of Quinn still on your pillow and the taste of Quinn still on your lips and the sounds of Quinn's breath hot in your ears, it's a miracle that your heart is even still beating, it's been hammering so hard all night.

You should be exhausted after the weekend you had, the emotions you had to sort through and catalog and shelve, but the only feeling inside of you is an apprehension that throbs dully from somewhere deep inside. You feel like it's the first day of school all over again, and in some ways it is.

Quinn Fabray called you her _home_. She asked you not to break her. And the way that she kissed you, it was like—God, it was like she's never wanted anything else.

The moment your phone buzzes on the nightstand, you know exactly who it is, and you grab for it.

The screen flashes that you have a new text and you open it and shut your eyes tight for just a second because you've seen enough movies where the couple spends the night together and the next day, one of them gets a text that just says, "I can't," or something equally dramatic, and what if Quinn—

You force your eyes open.

_Good morning, sweetheart. Deep breaths, okay? Today will be fine. xx Quinn_

You don't know how long you stare at Quinn's words, but suddenly you realize that you've been holding your breath. You exhale shakily and send back a reply—

_I trust you _is all you can think to say.

For the first time ever, you're distracted during your elliptical workout. What if she changes her mind once you get to school? What if she decides that it's not worth it for her to endanger her reputation again? What if she decides that _you're_ not worth it?

You pick at breakfast, and you can tell that your dad wants to say something over his newspaper, but you're thankful that he lets you fret in peace. There are so many things that could go wrong today.

You abandon breakfast on the table and perch yourself on the armrest of the couch, watching the driveway for Quinn's car and picking absently at the hem of your sweater.

When Quinn's car pulls up, you yank her Cheerios jacket off the coat rack – she insisted that you keep it last night – and press your face into it once before pulling open the door and going out to meet her.

She's starting up the walk, but slouches back against her car when she sees you. She stuffs her hands deep into her pockets. Her lips purse up, and she quirks an eyebrow.

"You're supposed to be wearing that," she says, eyeing the jacket in your arms.

You want to be strong today; you want to show her that you _do_ trust her, but even in light of her text this morning, you just _know_ that things are going to fall apart. The sweet weekend you spent in Quinn Fabray's arms just could not possibly hold up under the scrutiny of your peers. It just couldn't.

You lift your chin. "I didn't think you would appreciate me showing up to school in your car _and_ in your Cheerios jacket," you say.

"What? Why not?"

You're standing right in front of her now and you look into her eyes – _those eyes!_— and falter.

Her arms are around you before you can even hold the jacket out for her to take, her body pinning it to your chest.

"Hey," she says into you ear, and it soothes you. Having her hold you like she did yesterday slows everything down and you're able to feel yourself breathing again, your rhythm matching hers. "Rach, talk to me. What's going on? Are you... having second thoughts?"

A tiny little sob escapes you and you clutch tighter. "What if this isn't worth it?" you manage, and she's pulling you back and staring at you with such fervor, you feel like she could set you on fire with the friction in her eyes.

"Are you asking me if I think this—" she motions back and forth between you—"is _worth_ it?"

You don't have to say yes. She can see it on your face, in your eyes, and you drop your gaze. She strokes your cheek with her thumb.

"Rachel, sweetheart, come here."

Quinn spins you around gently, pulls her jacket from your grasp and you notice the flash of silver on her hand. The Queen of Hearts.

She's wearing your ring.

To school.

You're searching her face over your shoulder, and she knows that you saw it. She just smiles and presses a kiss to your ear. "Here," she says and pulls you into her coat.

When she spins you back around, you have to clutch at her shoulders just to feel like you're holding on to something.

"Quinn," you whisper, and she shushes you.

"That's better," she murmurs, and she's holding you against her again, kissing your hair softly. "Rachel," she says finally, and you pull back enough to look up at her. "Of course I think this is worth it. I think you're worth it. You're worth _more_. Okay? Now, please. Let's go to school."

There's a grin somewhere in her words and you search for it until she helps you out and flashes it across her lips. You nod shyly, duck your head, tuck yourself into Quinn's car.

"Here," she says when she's seated beside you. She hands you a thermal travel mug. "Hot tea with lemon," she explains. "Isn't that what you drink?"

"Thank you," you say softly, and she smiles at you again before backing down the driveway.

The ride to school is completely silent, and you would wonder what's going through Quinn's mind if you weren't so busy with what's going on inside your own.

Quinn Fabray spent a weekend in your bed, in your arms. Being sweet to you. Playing with your hair. _Kissing_ you. No one at school has ever even seen the two of you together outside of glee. Forced to coexist because of show choir. That's what everyone thinks. Quinn Fabray _tolerates_ you. Shoot, that's what _you _thought until she pulled you into the Cheerios lounge and wrapped her arms around you for the first time.

When Quinn finally pulls into a parking space in the school parking lot, she's out of the car before you can even reach for your bookbag, pulling open your door for you and waiting expectantly for one Rachel Berry, clad in knee socks, argyle, and Quinn Fabray's Cheerios jacket to climb out of the car and join her.

A group of Cheerios saunter by, throw skeptical looks in your direction and whisper not-so-quietly something about what a troll you are, and _oh my god is she actually wearing a__** Cheerios**__ jacket?_ _Who the hell does she think she __**is?**_

Quinn says nothing, and you deflate that much more. This is the moment you've been dreading all weekend. The moment you both realize that what you shared together won't be enough.

You blink back the tears stinging your eyes, wonder exactly how many times you have cried over Quinn Fabray. If this is how things are, you will accept them. You will hold your head high today. You will cry only in the bathroom where no one can see. You _will_ be the strong one today, even if it means falling apart on your own later.

The Cheerios are still walking by, and though Quinn doesn't speak, you don't miss the expression on her face. She purses her lips, lifts her eyebrow. They must recognize the challenge when they see it because they immediately lose some of their swagger.

"Rach," Quinn says softly beside you, her hand grasping tightly to yours. Her lips aren't moving. "This is... I'm not completely sure how to do this. Be patient with me today, okay?"

There's a vulnerability about her that you've never seen, and she's holding so tightly to your hand. You blink back the tears and straighten your posture.

"We can do this," you tell her. "If you really want to."

"I really do," she says, in that same quiet voice.

You smile, softly. "Okay. Then lets do this."

The only thing you can hear is your own breathing and a bird chirping somewhere, and finally, Quinn echoes your smile. "Okay," she says and, just that quickly, the vulnerability is gone, and Quinn Fabray is back.

It sends a familiar chill through your body, seeing her like this. Full of confidence. She's _sexy_ when she's like this.

She tightens her grip on your hand and pulls you toward the school. _Her_ school.

The door swings shut behind you and still Quinn does not let go of your hand. You risk a glance at her, and she looks completely calm, her posture rigid and a look of cold superiority on her face. She looks exactly like every time you've even seen her in the hallway in her cheerleading uniform. Except this time, she has Rachel Berry by her side, holding her hand.

You expect there to be some kind of reaction from the student population. Audible, visible. _Anything_. Instead, there are a few curious glances thrown your way, but mostly your peers are keeping out of Quinn's way. She walks you quietly to your locker and leans up against the wall while you hang your bookbag inside and begin to remove her jacket.

"Leave it on today, Rach?" she asks quietly, and you don't bother to hide your surprise from her. She rolls her eyes. "I mean, obviously, if you get warm, take it off, but I'd like you to be seen in it today. I want people to know, and I don't know if I can—"

You don't have to ask what she doesn't know if she can do. The only thing you can think to say in response is "But what if I get slushied?" and she laughs.

"Then you get slushied. But God help the poor moron who does it because Coach will be out of control with rage."

"Yeah," you mutter. "At _you_ for lending it to a loser."

"Rachel Berry," Quinn says so sharply that you can't help but snap your eyes to hers in alarm. "You are _not_ a loser." When she pulls you into a hug right there in the hallway, people actually stop walking to stare openly at you.

"What are you doing?" you whisper, and she laughs again and says, "Hugging you."

You shiver and murmur, "This feels like a lot more than hugging," and she laughs again. "Seriously, Quinn. How are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Are you _drunk_?" you hiss.

She still has her arms around you when she says, "Come on, Rach. Driving to school drunk? No." And then, _god and then_, Quinn Fabray does something that takes you so far off guard, you lose your breath completely. She presses her lips to your ear like she did to you in bed and murmurs, "This is how I do things, Rachel. I figure out what I want and I _go after it._"

You're shivering by the time she pulls back, and she grins knowingly. "I'll see you in third period," she says and kisses you on the cheek. She's gone before you can begin to process the fact that she _winked_ at you in front of everybody.

* * *

><p>It's never taken longer to make it to history than it does today. Beside glee, this is the only class you have with Quinn, and the wait is completely worth it when she leans against the edge of your desk and talks to you before the bell rings. You honestly think that she might kiss you before she skips to her seat in the back, but she doesn't; she just smiles that smile that seems meant only for you, and then she's gone.<p>

You're halfway through the hour when your phone flashes in your lap. Thank god you thought to silence it.

_You're okay? I haven't scared you off, have I? _

You've never texted in class before. You've never had anyone _to_ text in class, and the idea of doing it is sneaky and thrilling. You're positive that the gold standard will forgive you for checking out for a few minutes, and you bite back a grin and type out your reply:_ Of course not, Quinn. I'm just surprised by your tenacity._

A few minutes goes by before it flashes again.

_You're **surprised** by my tenacity? _

You don't wait any time at all before sending, _You're right. Maybe not. _

Quinn doesn't respond, but you swear that you can hear her stifling her laughter in the back row.

* * *

><p>When Quinn sits with you at lunch, it's at a table by yourselves, and the entire time she runs her foot slowly up and down the back of your calf underneath it. Her face, her voice, the topic of conversation don't give any indication that she's caressing you out of sight, but there is a very distinct look in her eye, and it makes you wish that you were home with her in your bedroom once again. If you were, you've recently learned that there are a dozen things that completely incapacitate her, and you'd try any of them in a second, just to make her heart thunder in her chest like yours is doing now.<p>

After lunch, things are beginning to feel real. Like Quinn wants you with her. Like this could work. When you stop by your locker to get your books for English, you fish a black and white photograph out of your bag and tuck in beneath the magnet on your locker door. Quinn is holding you from behind and smiling at you like you're the only person in the world. Just looking at it now fills you with a warmth that you take for pure happiness. You can be that happy, you realize. The two of you. You shut your locker and head to class with happiness bursting across your face. You can't help it.

* * *

><p>By the time it's finally time for glee, you're wrapped securely in Quinn's cheerleading jacket, just as she requested, and no one has tried to throw a slushie in your face. Your body is still humming from her secret attention at lunch, and on your way down the hallway, a hand presses lightly against your back and perfect white tennis shoes fall into step with your own. Quinn is walking you to glee club, and today is the best day at school you've <em>ever<em> had.

You look up to tell Quinn so and that it's all because of her, and the words die in your throat.

"Santana," you croak out instead.

She tilts her head, grins wickedly. "Hey, dwarf," she says, and before you know it, the gentle hand on your back turns heavy and then she's gripping your arm, and you're twisting against her.

"Let me go! This is harassment!"

"Oh no, you and me, we're going to have a little chat first." She shoves you through a door, and you find yourself in the bathroom. "About my girl Quinn."

Santana's hands are on her hips, and she looks incredibly pleased with herself.

You press yourself against the sink. The more distance between the two of you, the better.

"Quinn is not your girl," you tell her, and she laughs. She actually throws her head back and _laughs_ at you.

"Because you think she's _yours_? Trust me, Yentl, there is no way on god's green—"

"What's going on?"

Oh thank god. Quinn must have seen Santana push you through the door and followed. That's when you notice the ice cold slushie in her hand. She could just be enjoying it as a treat, unless... oh god. You've never seen her drink one before. Ever. This is it, isn't it? This is the payoff she's been building up to since Friday afternoon in the Cheerios lounge. The ultimate humiliation. Make you fall so hard and so fast for her and then gang up on you with Santana in a bathroom.

Your eyes well up with tears, and somehow they're hotter than any tears you've ever cried in your life. You shut your eyes tight against them, and grip the edge of the sink.

"Go ahead, Quinn," you say in your steadiest voice. "Pull the trigger. Let's just get this over with."

Of course Quinn doesn't really want you. Of _course_ she doesn't. You don't open your eyes. You can't. It hurts too much, how close you almost were to happiness. How sincere she seemed when she sang to you. The picnic—oh god, the _ring_!

Your tears are flowing freely now. You've been stabbed in the chest and you might as well bleed out and die right here. Your entire perfect weekend was just a long, elaborate set up for betrayal.

At least you found out _now_ before you started planning your wedding.

"Santana, what the _hell_?" You don't open your eyes, and even if you did, you're crying too hard to be able to see what's going on. All you know is, the door opens, closes, and then there's warmth in your space again. You flinch and wait for impact. "Rachel, open your eyes and look at me."

You can't. You can't see her look at you with hatred in her eyes again. You _can't_.

There's a hand on your cheek, a thumb rubbing softly at your chin. It's not hurried. She's waiting.

It's not until you hear the slushie dumped in the sink that you finally open your eyes, the sight in front of you wrenches a sob up your throat. Quinn is silently crying. The sink next to you is filled with purple liquid, crushed ice, and a plastic cup floating on top.

"You really thought..." She swallows like the words are lodged in her throat. "You really thought that I would do that to you?"

"Quinn, I—"

She drops her hand. "I really don't know how much more sincere I can be. I've never—"Her tears come harder. "I've never been as open with anyone as I was with you this weekend, and you... you still don't believe me."

What can you really say? That you _do_ believe her? You didn't even give her a chance to defend you. You just assumed immediately that her entire intent was malicious without even giving her a _chance_.

"I'm sorry," you say through silent tears. "I _do_ believe you, I just..." You bite your lip. You're both still crying, and it's not right. This isn't how this is supposed to go. "Please, Quinn. Please hold me again."

If she doesn't, if she walks away from you now, it might actually kill you.

You don't have to wait long. Her arms are around you before you can even take another breath, delicate hands stroking your hair.

"I wanted to ride in on a white horse," she whispers. "I waited so long for you. To be able to be with you. You said... I made you feel safer than you've ever felt."

"I was supposed to be strong today," you tell her, and she sobs quietly against you. "I'm sorry."

With your arms around her waist and hers around your neck, you can't tell if she's holding you or if you're holding her.

You've both hurt each other beyond belief, and now you're back outside in the rain, looking through the window. Except that Quinn isn't standing next to you anymore. She's inside, looking out.

"I wanted to fight for you, and it turns out... I'm actually fighting _you_," she says, and you want to tell her that she's not making sense. "You think that I'm still this monster who would—"

She seems so lost, so broken. You can feel the pain that you've caused so vibrantly, as if it's in your own heart. It makes you want to gasp and clutch at your chest. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." This time, you're nuzzling her, trying to get her to respond. Trying to make the same connection that you've shared all weekend. You're terrified that you've wrecked it, ruined it forever. You've shut the door in her face and she's never going to open it again. "Please, Quinn. _Hold_ me."

"I am," she murmurs into you hair. But she must know that she's not. Her arms are around you, but there's a whole world between you.

"You're not." You choke on the sob that works its way up your throat. "Not like you have been. _Please_. I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

She's letting go. You're losing her! She steps back, and your hands automatically cover your face and catch your tears.

"I need to think." Her voice is hollow. Her tears are real and warm, and coming one after the other, but her voice is _so_ empty. Mechanical. "I need to think, Rachel. I'll see you after glee."

As she's walking away, you don't know what else to do. In desperation, you whisper one word, the only word that feels like it can save you, can save what you had together. One word, barely a whisper. "Daisy."

It's so soft, but you know she hears you by the way she stops with her hand on the door. When she turns to look at you one last time, the tears are cascading, and she's biting her lip as if it will hold them back.

One last look back and then she's gone.

* * *

><p>Glee club is a disaster. The only other time you've ever been off key is when you were sick and almost had to have your tonsils out. You can't concentrate. You can't stop the assault of the image of Quinn's tear-streaked face, her heartbreak advertised so clearly in her wounded eyes before she left you in the bathroom, sobbing.<p>

Quinn isn't here. You don't know where she would go right now, but she's not in glee club, and it's your fault, which only makes you cry harder. The whole club can see you, no matter how tightly you wrap your arms around yourself. The last time this happened, Quinn took care of you. She led you away, she made you feel safe. And now—she can't be that for you. You turned her into something else, something that can't protect you.

When Mr. Schuester stops you for the fourth time to ask you to go back, Finn huffs and rolls his eyes. "Maybe if you could get it together—"

You shoot to your feet, hands curled into balls at your side. "Don't you dare say another word, _Finn_," you spit out with as much venom as you can muster. In the back of your mind, you think dimly that if Quinn could see you, she might be proud of you for standing up for yourself. "I understand that you're still angry with me for breaking up with you, and I'm _sorry_ that I hurt you. But I am getting _extremely_ tired of you blaming me for all of the glee club's problems. You have no idea what I'm dealing with right now, but since I seem to be ruining everything for the rest of you, I'm just going to go home early."

You make it to your locker before you break down again completely. It's the black and white photo that does it – the one that your dad took of you and Quinn before the most magical night of your young life. A night that you might never get to experience again. The look on Quinn's face in that photograph should have been enough for you to see how much she cared for you, but with Santana cornering you in the bathroom, and the slushie clutched in Quinn's hand, you forgot all about the picture. You forgot all about your weekend. You panicked. Because, really, how could someone as beautiful as Quinn Fabray want _you_?

You wipe at your eyes with the back of a shaking hand. The other hand tears the picture down and shoves it deep into your locker.

The last thing you need is a constant reminder of what you could have had.

The gasp behind you makes you whirl, your skirt fanning out. Quinn is still staring at the blank spot on your locker door.

"So, that's it?" she says. You can hear the tears lacing through her voice. Knowing that _you're _the one who put them there makes you think you might be sick in the hallway. "We have one fight, and you're done with me. Awesome."

"No! No, Quinn, I thought—" How do you explain that it's the exact opposite? "You left and... I thought—"

"You hurt me," Quinn says, dropping her gaze. "Worse than I've ever been hurt, I think. But... I also realize that I put you through so much hell that it's bound to have some residual effect on _us_, at least at first. It's another reason for us to slow down, maybe."

"Are you saying...?"

"I'm saying that this weekend was the best weekend of my life. I'm saying that I feel things for you that don't go away just because you assume that I'm capable of—" Quinn closes her eyes, shakes her head slightly. "I'm saying that we're _together_, and I don't walk away from things because they're hard. But if _you're_ done, Rachel, I need you to tell me now so that I can go try to get over it."

"I'm not—It hurt too much seeing it there. I thought I ruined us. I don't _want_ to be done. I thought I didn't have a choice. I want you to hold me again, like you did before." You're crying again, or maybe you never really stopped, but it doesn't matter anymore because Quinn's arms are around you. This feels like the first time, the way that she's holding you, fierce and protective. You melt into her, sniffle against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry," you say again, and she shushes you and strokes your hair.

There's a gentle kiss pressed to the skin just behind your ear, and she whispers against you, "I treated you so horribly, Rachel. It's no wonder that you doubt my feelings for you. It's going to take some time for me to get over what happened today, but... let me show you. Give me some time, and let me _show_ you. I need you to let me try to build your trust."

You're about to tell her that she can have all the time she needs. You're going to say that the only thing you want is her arms around you forever. But her entire body tenses before you can. "What are you doing here?" she asks in a low voice, and when you hear Santana's answering laugh, you tense up too.

"Oh please, tubbers, I can walk down the hallway if I want to. It's a free country."

"Turn around and walk away, Santana."

"No problem. It's not like I _really_ care, anyway. I hope you're happy throwing your life away on some ridiculous hobbit."

"Just because you and Brittany can't seem to work yourselves out, that does _not_ give you the right to assault my girlfriend in the bathroom. If you ever lay a hand on her again, I'll have you kicked off the squad so fast that your scholarship will seem like it was never even offered to you in the first place, Santana. Don't test me."

"Girlfriend," Santana scoffs, but you can tell that Quinn's words have done their damage. Santana wants out of Ohio just as much as Quinn does. "Whatever. You don't know anything about me and Britt. Stay out of my way, dwarf. Just because you're screwing a Cheerio doesn't mean that you mean _anything_ to the rest of us."

You listen to Santana's retreating footsteps and nuzzle into Quinn's neck.

"I'm your girlfriend?" you ask her softly, and she laughs.

"That's what being _together_ means, Rach." She twirls your hair. "Unless you changed your mind about what you want," she says slowly.

"I haven't changed my mind," you're quick to tell her. "I just don't think your friends like me very much."

The sound Quinn makes sounds somewhere between pained and frustrated. "We only have a few more months until graduation, Rach. I'm not worried about retribution from _Santana_. She'll get over it."

Her finger is tracing your jaw now, and it's making you shiver. "I know you can't stay tonight, but will you at least come over? We can have dinner and do homework and..."

"And?"

"Cuddle, maybe?"

"We'll see." Her fingers are in your hair again, and you wonder with her tenderness towards you how you ever could have thought her capable of sweeping you off your feet all weekend just for the chance to humiliate you. It makes you want to sob into her again, with how good she's being to you, but her arms tighten just that much more, and you're safe. She makes you feel safe.

And then, there's a kiss pressed to your mouth that you never even saw coming, and all of the feeling, all of the warmth, all of the care that Quinn has been showing you for days erupts in your belly, and you cling tighter to her and sigh against her.

When she pulls away, you're both breathing heavily. "Come on, Chuck," Quinn says in a low voice, "it's me and you. Right?"

And when you can finally tell her that, yes, it is, she leads you by the hand down the hallway and out into the sunlight.

It isn't raining anymore, and you're not looking in the window at Quinn or anybody else. This time, it's you and Quinn, _together_, and you grip Quinn's hand tighter and let her carry you away in those tumultuous eyes of hers. You finally know that feeling of what it's like to be happy _with_ someone, and so does she.

Even though your future isn't as certain as you thought it was before Quinn took you into her arms on a Friday afternoon in the cheerleading lounge, she looks at you and, just like that, you've found the thought that can make you fly.

And for now, it's enough.


End file.
